Cabrillo on the Flip Side: A Murder Ward Sequel
by bluespiritgal
Summary: In this sequel to "Murder Ward," all is not right with Starsky and when he turns up missing, Hutch needs to find him before it's too late. Multi Chap angst story. "T" for language/content. Chapter 16 up. Story now COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Starsky & Hutch Fanfiction**

"**Cabrillo on the Flip Side"**

**A "Murder Ward" Sequel**

by

bluespiritgal

This a multi chap story that takes place about a week and a half after the episode "Murder Ward." In this episode, the detectives went undercover to investigate several deaths at Cabrillo State, a mental institute. Don't own the characters, wish I did. No infringement intended, just for pure entertainment. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One**

"_Restrain him!" _

_Hands suddenly reached out, grabbed him, forcing his arms into the straight jacket that was pulled up and over his shoulders. The sleeves were wrapped around his waist and bound tightly behind him, securing his arms across his chest. He struggled and more hands appeared pushing him down._

_"Can't believe Skyler could be capable of this."_

_"He must have attacked him last night. I should have seen this coming. Skyler's behavior has been growing more and more erratic since he's been here."_

_A flash of a blond head leaned over, applying leather restraints to his ankles and tightening the buckles, further restricting his movement._

_"I think its time to set up a private session with Mr. Skyler."_

_Sky blue eyes looked at him angrily._

_"I don't like it! It's too dangerous."_

_"Can't stop now. Not when we're this close. Please."_

_"What am I going to do with you?"_

_The voice that spoke was trusting, but why were the hands attached to it reaching up, replacing the gag, leaving him bound?_

_The lights went out and suddenly he was alone in the silence that followed._

_Please. Please don't go. Don't leave. I didn't mean it. He wanted to call out, shout, but the gag prevented his plea from being heard._

_The darkness encompassed him, its isolating stillness only heightening his fear._

_He hated the dark. Hated what lived there, lurking in wait._

_Soon he felt more than saw the presence moving close to his side, hovering over him._

_"You know why you're here, don't you Rudy? You're sick. Very Sick. But don't worry. After tomorrow all those evil thoughts, all your pain will be gone."_

_The flash of a needle appeared before him. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away but the bindings made his attempts useless._

_The prick of the needle made him flinch and cold laughter followed in a swirling dark fog._

_"You got twenty-four hours to live, pig."_

_He cringed and broke out into an uncontrollable sweat. He felt hot and it was getting difficult to breath, then waves of pain suddenly sliced through his gut, doubling him over._

_"It hurts, Hutch. Oh God, it hurts."_

_A hand suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the hair._

_The voice was laughing, amused._

_"What's the matter Skyler? Afraid of the dark? You should be. It's what you get when you don't follow the rules."_

_The gag was tightened around his mouth, cutting painfully into his lips. Fingers slid down his neck, squeezing. Panic rose within him._

_The sounds in the darkness suddenly shifted, now loud, chaotic: rapid fire, shouts, screams, an explosion. Then he was being dragged, kicked._

_When the voices spoke again he couldn't understand their words but their tone was clipped, demanding, shoving him down hard on the ground._

_Another body quivered against him. This one was frightened, the voice young, terrified, whimpering. He wanted to help, tried to move but pain exploded in his head, his sides, back and legs as he was struck repeatedly only ceasing when he stopped resisting. And then his tormentors moved away, leaving him still bound, gagged and bleeding in the dark._

_Beside him the raspy voice begged, cried in a childlike plea, "Please, God I don't want to die. Don't let them kill me!"_

_But he couldn't move, could hardly breathe. His arms, bound tightly to him were constricting the movement of his chest with each ragged intake of air. Hands that had long since lost their circulation were now cold, stiff, numb. The gag forced between his mouth cut into his swollen split lips, so tight he could taste the metallic bitterness of blood mixing with his own sweat, and his tongue felt thick, bruised, raw against the saliva soaked rag making him want to gag. Swallowing was painful, difficult, his throat tight, scratchy, parched. And he was thirsty, so thirsty._

_He tried to focus his eyes in the darkness but no light seemed to be able to penetrate the thick veil before him, increasing his sense of isolation and heightening the only senses left under his control yet yielded no comfort. The only sound he had been able to hear for a while now was his own panting and the throbbing pulse of his heart ringing in his ears. The tortured screams of earlier, followed by weak, rattling, high pitched gasps that had seemed to go on forever had finally grown terrifyingly silent to be replaced by the acrid stench of bodily fluids._

_And then he felt it, the presence of death close by, hovering just above, breathing down on him, laughing softly._

_His hair was pulled, forcing his head painfully back. He tried to fight against it but his bindings prevented his escape._

_Metal touched the side of his face. He froze, then felt its coldness run down his cheek over the gag, following the curve of his jaw before sliding down along the side of his neck, pausing over his jugular vein and pressing just enough for its sharp edge to be felt on the sensitive flesh._

_His heart accelerated, his teeth bit down hard on the gag, terrified because he knew what was coming but refused to scream, refused to give death the satisfaction._

_The voice was close to his ear now and spoke in broken English._

_"Ah, we have a brave solider boy here, yes? Don't worry. I no kill you, at least not today."_

_The blade to his throat was retracted._

_"But don't worry. I leave you something the think about."_

_Searing pain exploded in his thigh as the knife sunk deep into muscle tissue._

With a muffled scream and a jerk, Starsky came up fighting, fighting against the restraints that bound him, fighting the unseen attacker in the dark, twisting, turning until he came to his senses enough to realize he was sitting up in his own bed and entangled in the covers and that it had only been another dream.

He grabbed, clawed at the sheets coiled around his legs and torso until he was free and dropped his feet to the floor, hastily reaching for the lamp nearby and clicking it on, forcing the darkness away.

Sweat dripped down his bare back, his body shaking uncontrollably. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the curls tightly with both fists as he fought to shake the images from his mind and to push the cold terrifying fear away. His breath came in ragged, jagged pants, his heart still thundering in his chest, still trapped in the lingering effects of the nightmare.

He sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, mind, nerves and body wired, jumpy.

Eventually his breathing slowed and he released the death grip on his hair. His hands dropped down lying limply between his knees.

Tired glazed eyes looked up to the digital clock sitting on the nightstand.

Two-forty-three.

"Terrific," he mumbled aloud.

He sighed deeply, lifting one hand up and dragging it down his exhausted face, his fingers still quivering, his body still sensitized to the after effects of the same nightmare. The same recurring nightmare he'd had what now…four or five times already?

Wearily he got up, grabbing the spread off the bed and wrapped it around his cold shoulders. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself, and then got a drink of water. But when he came out, the quietness in the apartment, the stillness surrounding him hit him and suddenly the bedroom felt claustrophobic in the middle of the night and irrational fear kicked in again.

He reached for the phone, dialed the number automatically before he could stop himself. At that moment he just needed to hear the familiar, solid, anchoring voice of his partner. But on the third ring his rationality finally caught up with his fears and he hung up, feeling stupid at the idea of waking Hutch up at two-forty-three in the goddamn morning because he was what? Suddenly afraid of the dark, the boogey-man?

He fell back into bed, exhausted and stared at the ceiling, embarrassed and angry at himself. He blinked and his eyes felt like sandpaper.

The phone rang a few minutes later.

He already knew who it was before he picked it up after the fourth ring.

"You okay?" Hutch sleepily asked.

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay. Another bad dream?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No," he replied firmly and then sighed. "I'm okay now." And it was true. Just hearing Hutch's voice, its comforting softness, was enough to shake the last lingering threads of his nightmare. "Go back to sleep, Blondie."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sure?"

"Yeah, Blintz."

"Okay."

Starsky could hear the hesitation over the phone before his partner finally hung up.

It took a while, but eventually Starsky was able to get back to sleep, at least for a few hours before the damn alarm woke him up at six-thirty. He flung it on the floor.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

This chap's a little long…sorry, found it hard to break it up without breaking the roll of it. Thanks for all the positive critiques for Chapter 1. Hope you enjoy this next one…

(Sorry, just a repost for a few typos-I'm a horrible proofreader!-I apologize now for any more I may haved missed.)

**Chapter Two**

At seven-thirty-eight, still not fully functional, Starsky pulled the Torino up in front of Venice Place. Mounting the steps to the second level, he knocked on the door but didn't bother to wait for an answer. Reaching above the jam for the key, he let himself in as he suppressed a wide yawn. When he entered, not to his surprise, he found Hutch was already showered, dressed and finishing his morning dose of decimated liver in the disguise of a shake.

"Hey, Starsk."

Starsky gave a grunt in reply.

Hutch took a good look at his partner dressed in his crummiest pair of faded blue jeans and a light blue cotton shirt with the tails hanging out beneath the leather jacket, his unruly curls only partially tamed, noticing the dark circles under his friend's eyes.

"Man buddy, you look like crap," Hutch commented.

"Thanks for that winning observation," Starsky replied sourly.

Hutch offered him the remains of his health shake still left in the blender.

Starsky stared at him like he was nuts.

"You sure you're all right?"

Starsky groused back. "I'm fine, Hutch, just tired. Would feel a hell of a lot better if we weren't stuck on the morning shift this rotation."

While it was true the two seasoned detectives usually worked the second shift, they were often required to work first shift which meant being at the precinct by eight a.m. It was no secret Starsky preferred the afternoon rotation, yet his counterpart never seemed to mind getting an earlier start to the day. In the end it mattered little because it wasn't unusual for both to put in twelve to fourteen hour days simply because the criminal element didn't necessarily believe in punching any type of time clock. The only upside to the long hours was the overtime pay, especially on a cop's salary.

Of course, whenever they went on an undercover assignment, that was an entirely different ball game, like the one they had just finished at Cabrillo State, a mental institution, investigating the suspicious deaths of four inmates.

It was following this assignment that Starsky's sleepless nights had begun. The nightmares only happened on rare occasions, and most of the time, after a night or two, he'd get a grip on them and they would once again disappear back into the realm of his past where they belonged. Except for the last week and a half. For some reason they continued to plague him, leaving him increasingly tired, cranky and moody.

Hutch had noticed, like he did about everything when it came to matters of his partner, but it had still taken several hours of prodding, poking and general mother henning before Starsky had finally confessed to what was bugging him.

Still Starsky had refused to talk much about it. Instead he focused his energy on finishing the necessary reports against Dr. Matwick that Dobey and the D.A.'s Office had been hounding them for. This fact in itself when it came to paperwork, had alerted Hutch's suspicions that all was still not right with his partner.

Over the course of the week Starsky had deliberately ignored the concerned sideways glances thrown his way, convinced once the case was closed, the nightmares would disappear and they both could get back to business as usual. Hutch, reading his partner's stubbornness in the matter, had been forced to accept his decision, for now.

"Well, cheer up buddy. After this shift we've got two whole days off. You can sleep in."

Though the prospect sounded enjoyable, after last night, Starsky really wasn't looking forward to spending another evening alone in his own company. He thought about asking Hutch over to his place. The Lakers were playing the Knicks and it promised to be a good game. Both teams were hot this year. They could pick up a pizza and a six pack.

"Hey, Hutch wanna…" Starsky started to voice the suggestion but was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Hutch grabbed it. "Hello."

Starsky sighed. Guess he could ask him later.

He wandered into the kitchen. Trying to suppress another yawn, he opened the fridge and snooped around for something remotely appealing he could call breakfast since he hadn't eaten before leaving his own apartment. He ignored the goat's milk, pushed aside the jar of wheat germ powder, the containers of yogurt and something green in a glass bowl Starsky didn't even _want_ to guess what it could be, finally spying a lone root beer in the back.

Retrieving a bottle opener, he listened to the one side conversation as he popped the cap off the soda.

"Yeah…it's really good to…uh hear from you too, Ashley." The boyish Minnesota face smiled into the receiver.

Despite his grumpiness, the left corner of Starsky's mouth lifted.

Ashley was an airline stewardess Hutch had met a few months ago on a trip back home to Bay City, the only good highlight that had come out of a family visit back to Duluth, at least from what Starsky had gathered from the sappy, dopey smile his partner had worn for two days after.

"Really? That's great!"

Still listening and not being concerned in the least that he was technically eavesdropping, he went about rummaging through his partner's cabinets for something solid to go along with his root beer.

Hutch's hand went up to the back of his neck and he bowed his head slightly, a shy nervous gesture that didn't go unnoticed by his tired but still observant partner. "A lay over you say?"

A pause.

The blond blushed.

Starsky snickered under his breath as he took down a box of cereal, read the words "natural whole grain granola," grimaced and put it back.

"Uh…no…uh…I mean yes…sure…I'd like that too…"

It didn't take much detective work to guess the conversation and Starsky rolled his eyes only to be awarded by a glare from his partner causing his smirk to widen even further in response as he reached to open another cabinet.

A second later he was pelted upside the head with something.

"Hey!"

It was a muffin, which landed in the sink.

"What? Oh, no…that was just my annoying partner," Hutch said quickly into the receiver.

Starsky snorted, offended.

He then picked up the dark brown muffin, examining the raisins on top and with a shrug of his shoulders took a bite. After only a few chews though, he grimaced. Seconds later his mouth was suddenly sucked dry of all saliva and it took several swigs of root beer to force the sawdust texture down.

It was Hutch's turn to grin back at the disgusted look on his partner's face before returning his attention to Ashley. "What? Yeah…that…uh would be great! Pick you up tonight? Sure…uh…I can do that. See you then."

He hung up, smiling dopily again.

Starsky sighed. _Well, looks like you're soloing it tonight, Davey_, he thought sullenly.

Hutch glanced up at the clock. "Crap! Dobey's gonna have our hides!" He grabbed his jacket.

With a sour grunt, Starsky chucked the muffin into the trashcan and followed his partner out the door

Twenty-eight minutes past eight Hutch pushed open the swinging doors to the squad room followed by his slower moving partner.

"Come on, Starsky. Hurry up! We're already late!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who was chatting on the phone this morning making plans to get laid," he miffed.

Hutch blushed slightly when a couple of the other detectives' heads in the squad room came up in response to Starsky's comment.

Shedding out of the light weight jacket and draping it over the wooden chair at the end of a row of desks all butted up against each other, Hutch muttered back, "Yeah…well...I'm not the one who insisted on stopping to get coffee and donuts either!"

Starsky, either oblivious to the stares or just didn't care, set the small white bag down on the desk directly opposite his partner and replied irritably, "I was hungry and you didn't have crap at your place."

He took off the worn leather jacket before plopping tiredly down in his seat. Peeling the lid off the Styrofoam cup, he took a sip of the sugar and cream laden coffee.

Reading the exhausted, grumpy look on his partner's face, Hutch let him be, both out of sympathy and self preservation, hoping that after his friend had gotten his caffeine fix in for the morning he'd be in a better mood.

While Hutch went about pulling the last of the Cabrillo case files out of his desk, Starsky swung his legs up, resting the blue Adidas sneakers on the corner of his desk and tipped his chair back. He then dug out a sugar powdered jelly donut from the bag.

He'd only gotten a few bites of it before the door to Dobey's office suddenly opened. Immediately the big black man glanced at the clock then focused his attention on Starsky.

"You're late!"

Dobey then looked down at the man's scruffy attire and scrutinized the wild mayhem of curls exploding out of the brunet's head. "And didn't I tell you, Starsky, to get a damn haircut once you finished the Cabrillo case!"

In process of licking some jelly off his fingers and wiping the powdered sugar off the side of his mouth with his thumb, Starsky replied, "Sorry, Cap. Haven't had time. Hutch and I've been pretty busy trying to wrap up this case."

"Yeah, I can _see _just how busy you are," the overweight Captain replied sarcastically to the seated detective with powdered sugar sprinkled across his shirt. "And what did I tell you about eating in the damn squad room during working hours!"

"Uh…Sorry."

He attempted to brush the white powder off his shirt.

"And get your damn feet off the desk! This isn't the break room either!"

Starsky dropped his legs to the floor, looking over at Hutch whom Dobey seemed to be completely ignoring.

Hutch sat quietly, trying really hard to hide a grin over the pretense of studiously examining a deposition.

Dobey continued his tirade, which seemed to be solely and rather unfairly directed at the brunet.

"And by the way, Starsky, what the hell is _this_?"

Something was shoved under his nose. He looked at it. "It's an expense receipt."

"For a fake mustache?"

"It was for my disguise."

"This is _not_ what the Department considers a legitimate expense!"

"But Nurse Ratchet wouldn't give it back ta me," Starsky whinned.

"And I suppose this one for a…." Dobey paused and scrutinized the receipt. "What the hell is a damn roach motel, anyway?"

"It's a little box for catching roaches in."

"And why the hell do you want the Department to reimburse you for them?"

"Well, it's like this, Cap, we had a few escapees."

"Escapees?"

"After the first annual Cabrillo Roach Races," Starsky tried to explain.

"Roach Races!"

"I would'a won too if Boycroft hadn't killed the Cabrillo Kid!"

"Starsky, were you sniffing old paint in there or something?" Dobey thundered.

"We needed a distraction," Starsky tried to explain.

"That is true, Captain," Hutch finally piped in.

"I don't want to hear it!" Dobey tore up the receipts.

Starsky's temper flared. "Hey, those were legitimate expenses!"

"Can it Starsky!" Dobey snapped. "And now if you're _done_ stuffing your face with donuts, you and your partner get off your butts and hit the streets! You're on routine patrol today."

Both looked up surprised.

"But Cap, we were hoping to finish up the paperwork on the Cabrillo case today," Hutch replied.

"It will have to wait. I've already had three sick calls this morning and we're short staffed. As it is, if it ends up the same tomorrow, I might have to pull you two in from your day off."

"We've already worked five days straight," Starsky whinned.

"Can't be helped, so get your butts out the door! And, Starsky," Dobey glared at the brunet. "Get your damn hair cut!" He repeated.

Before Starsky could argue further Dobey stormed back into his office and slammed the door causing both detectives to cringe, muttering something about damn grapefruit and celery under his breath.

Less than five minutes later, the two detectives were making their way out of the squad room.

"Geez! What's with him? He's pissier than a John with an STD of late!" Starsky muttered heatedly as they walked down the corridor heading for the parking lot.

Minnie seeing her favorite pair of detectives strutting down the hall called out from the doorway of R&I. "Hi, boys."

"Hey, Minnie," Hutch said pleasantly, stopping.

"Hey," Starsky grunted.

"What's the matter, Curly?"

"Nothin'."

"Dobey's in a bad mood again," Hutch explained.

"Aw." Minnie nodded in understanding.

"Yeah. And takin' all out on me! I don't get it. What's his beef anyway?"

"Dobey has to loose thirty pounds," Minnie informed them.

"Terrific. I may need to request a transfer before then," Starsky muttered.

"According to inside gossip," Minnie continued. "Mrs. D's got him on some low fat, low carbohydrate, cleansing celery and grapefruit diet."

"Sounds like something you'd eat, Blondie, and actually like it," Starsky snickered.

"There's nothing wrong with treating your body respectfully, Starsk. Besides a good detoxifying every once in a while is probably a good thing for Dobey."

Starsky glared at his partner. "Might be a good thing for Dobey, but there ain't _nothing_ good about for me. You hear him in there? I feel like I'm his regular punching bag of late!"

"Well buddy, you just have a special way about you," Hutch grinned sympathetically and slapped him on the back, for it did indeed seem his partner tended to be on the receiving end of Dobey's wrath more so than any one else whenever the Captain was in a bad mood.

They soon left the precinct and spent the better part of the first half of their shift dealing with petty ante calls that kept the two detectives busy throughout most of an increasingly warm day.

Hutch of course didn't bother to mention the fact that if Starsky hadn't worn that stupid leather jacket he was so fond of he wouldn't be sweating like a pig right now.

By the time Starsky wanted to stop at his favorite burrito place for lunch it was nearly ninety. By then _both_ detectives were hot, tired and sweaty and conversation with the brunet had dwindled to clipped yes and no answers.

Unfortunately a 2-11 call from dispatch squelched Starsky's plans.

Hutch retrieved the mars light, slapped it on the roof of the Torino, and switched on the siren while Starsky flipped a u-turn.

When they arrived at the mom and pop grocery store they found their culprit being detained by the blunt end of a broom stick held by a very angry clerk with a swollen bruise over his left check.

Both detectives looked down at the detainee, a little old lady holding a large embroidered purse.

Starsky flashed his badge at the clerk.

"'Bout time you showed up! I want her arrested officers for robbery and assault!"

"You've got no right to detain me, young man," she said tearfully. "I'm just a poor old woman."

The clerk sneered. "Poor old woman my ass. You've been ripping me off for weeks you old hag!" He jabbed the end of the broom into the old lady's face. "But this time I finally caught you red handed and you're going down!"

Starsky reached over to grab the broom out of the clerk's hand at the same instant Granny took a swing at the shop owner with her very large purse, but missed.

The bottom corner of the purse impacted dead center on a particular part of Starsky's anatomy that made him suddenly double over, leaving him momentarily speechless. The contents in the purse, which included several cans of tuna, three packs of Virginia Slims, a handful of candy bars and a porn magazine spilled out onto the floor.

Hutch grabbed Granny restraining her and promptly received a kick in the shin from an orthopedic shoe. The "frail" old lady then begun to spew a mouthful of profanity that would have made a sailor blush.

While Starsky stared back dumbfounded still trying to recover from the assault to his family jewels, his partner cuffed the suspect and read her her rights.

"You okay?" Hutch asked.

Starsky took in a deep breath and managed a strangled, "Terrific," in reply.

Hutch took the old woman into custody, placing her in the back of the Torino while Starsky gingerly made his way to the driver's side. In a sympathetic gesture, Hutch offered to drive only to receive a scowl in return.

On the rather uncomfortable ride back to the precinct, from the rearview mirror Starsky saw the old lady smiling lasciviously.

After booking Granny and finding she had a petty theft rap sheet a mile long, they still had a few more hours on their beat. Hutch suggested they call it a day and try and work on some of their paperwork but Starsky opted to grin and bear it for a few more hours when he heard Dobey bellowing at Bigalow down the hall.

The two detectives had three more calls before their shift ended. By then _Little Davey_ was _almost_ back to normal.

The first one was an indecent exposure call that ended up to be a John thrown out of a sleazy motel room on his bare ass when he refused to pay for services rendered and was trying to hide his assets behind a "For Sale - $1,000 OBO" sign he'd ripped off a car window in the parking lot.

The second was a domestic disturbance call which turned out to be an argument between a husband and wife over which way to correctly stack the dishes in the dishwasher and something about the proper way to roll a toothpaste tube. It had ended with the ninety pound husband sporting a bloody nose and a frying pan sailing out the kitchen window missing both partners by mere inches.

Their last call simply came in as a man on a roof screaming.

Starsky rolled his eyes irritably. "For Christ sakes, can't we just get a quiet stiff?"

For once, Hutch agreed.

When they arrived at the scene the address turned out to be an auto shop. When they inquired within, a mechanic told them a thief had tried to break into their specialty parts room and was currently up on the roof screaming.

"Why is he screaming?" Hutch asked.

The mechanic only grinned. "Go see for yourself."

The two detectives went back outside to examine the three story high structure.

"How do we get up there?" Hutch asked.

The mechanic pointed to a fire escape at the far side of the building. "But I'd be careful, man. Bozer isn't in a very good mood."

"Who's Bozer?" Starsky inquired.

The mechanic simply grinned and walked away leaving the two detectives to stare at each other.

The fire escape ladder was retracted up, requiring one to give a boost to the other to release it.

Hutch interlaced his fingers together forming a stirrup and looked at his partner.

Starsky merely stared back.

"Age before beauty," the blond reminded him.

"I'm only a few months older than you!" Starsky groused.

It was a usual tease between them.

"And _still_ not gettin' any younger, partner."

With a sigh Starsky put his foot in Hutch's hand and was boosted up to the first rung of the ladder. Once up, he released the mechanism that allowed the ladder to slide down so his partner could follow.

Once up top, Starsky peered over the edge. The scene before him took the cop by surprise. "What the heck?"

Hutch, now directly underneath him asked, "What? What's going on?"

Starsky shushed him, motioning him to come up quietly as he eased himself onto the roof.

Hutch followed, drawing his magnum, his senses on high alert.

When he poked his head up he immediately saw what had taken his partner by surprise.

The would be auto parts thief was standing precariously on top of an air conditioning unit with the better part of the entire left side of his pants missing, the exposed buttocks and thigh covered in blood. His shirt was also ripped to shreds. Below, the biggest Rottweiler they had ever seen had his teeth bared, snarling at the thief.

"Bozer?" Hutch asked.

"Uh…I would say that would be a yes," Starsky replied.

The thief spotted the two men. "Help me!" he screamed.

The dog turned and lunged towards the two detectives who hastily scrambled back towards a set of crates and some junk stacked up on the roof.

Starsky's left foot hit something slick and slipped out from underneath him, causing him to fall onto his left shoulder. Hutch grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him back behind the crates.

The dog stopped its charge a few feet from them, growled, then trotted back to the thief.

Starsky got up onto his knees and looked down at the sleeve of his leather jacket which was covered in some kind of grease.

"Damn!"

The thief shouted for help.

"We're the police," Hutch yelled.

"I don't care! I give up! I give up! Just get this monster off me!"

The dog was guarding the thief like a meaty bone.

The two detectives looked at each other.

"What are we gonna do?" Starsky asked.

Hutch thought. "Uh….Well, one of us could distract the dog, while I rescue the suspect?"

"One of us, huh? Why me?"

Hutch grinned. "Well, you run faster?"

"Terrific," Starsky muttered.

Hutch re-holstered the magnum. He looked around, found a broken wooden chair next to the crates and offered it to his partner.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Tame a lion?"

Starsky rolled his eyes. "You're gonna owe me a beer after this, I swear!"

The two partners separated.

Starsky moved around to the other side of the suspect while Bozer watched from his post, snarling. "Good dog. Good dog," he said calmly. The dog followed him around to the back side of the air conditioning unit watching the brunet while Hutch got into position. "No one's gonna hurt you, pal. We're the good guys and we're just here to take the bad guy away."

The dog advanced away from the suspect, muscles bunching around thick shoulders and torso. "Hutch," he continued to speak softly. "This, uh, would be a good time to make your move."

While his partner moved in and grabbed the suspect, the Rottweiler bolted for Starsky who promptly let out a scream, backed away and raised the chair out in front of him. It was immediately clamped down on by powerful jaws and a set of very sharp teeth.

Hutch grabbed the thief and assisted him over to the fire escape and for a man with an injured leg and bleeding from his buttocks, he managed to move pretty fast.

Starsky wrangled with the dog with the chair disintegrating quickly between them watching until he saw the blond head disappear from his line of vision down the ladder. He then started backing towards the fire escape. By the time he reached it, he was down to only half the seat. When that was yanked from him, leaving only the spindly top, he dropped the chair and took off running, practically flinging himself over the side of the building and onto the outer rungs of the ladder. He promptly gasped as the ground precariously swung below him, suddenly remembering he _really_ hated heights!

Hutch had reached the ground and immediately cuffed the suspect, who at this point was offering no resistance. He then looked up and saw his partner clinging to the fire escape.

"Starsky? Starsky, you okay?" he called up.

Starsky had a death grip the iron bars, his eyes squeezed tightly shut while the Rottwieler barked crazily above him.

When he didn't answer, Hutch frantically shouted louder, "Starsky!"

At the sound of Hutch's raised voice, Starsky opened his eyes and looked down to see his partner already in the process of making his way back up the ladder.

"I'm okay!"

Hutch's hands lingered on the rungs until he could see Starsky making his way back down under his own steam, relieved.

When he'd reached the bottom, Hutch slapped him on the back, grinning. "Nice job."

Starsky glared back at him. "Next time, I'll take the thief!"

While Hutch called an ambulance for the injured suspect, Starsky took off his jacket examining it. Grabbing a rag out of the mechanic's back pocket standing next to them, he attempted to clean the grease spot off, his annoyance only increasing at the toothy grin of amusement plastered on the mechanic's face.

As the suspect was loaded into the ambulance a short time later, Hutch looked back up to the roof where the dog was leaning over the edge still barking crazily down at them.

A sudden thought came to him. "Hey, Starsky?"

"What?" Starsky snapped, none too pleased by the dark stain left behind on the sleeve of his favorite jacket.

"How'd he get up there in the first place?"

"Huh?"

"The dog. How'd he get up there?"

Starsky looked up. "I have no idea and frankly I don't give a damn!"

"Well, um…what should we do?"

"About what?"

"About the dog."

"What about him?"

"Well, we just can't leave him up there, can we?"

Starsky just looked at his partner incredulously. "Watch me!" he muttered and stormed determinedly back to the Torino.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and with a bit of a lopsided grin, Hutch took one last look up at the dog still barking and followed his partner.

Starsky gunned the engine and pulled the Torino away while Hutch put a call into Animal Control.

By the time they got their suspect patched up in the ER, booked and then transferred to the county jail's medical ward Starsky was in a volatile mood _and_ starving.

Hutch suggested they stop by the Pits for a cold beer and a bite to eat.

"What about your date with Ashley?" Starsky reminded him.

Hutch looked at his watch. "Got plenty of time. Just swing by my place and drop me off. I'll grab my car and meet you at the Pits. After we eat, maybe we can even play a couple rounds of pool?"

Starsky slid a glance over at his partner, the sour expression still on his face.

"Come on, buddy," Hutch coaxed. "I still owe you that beer, remember?"

Starsky snorted, "All right."

TBC…(hang in there…I'm a slow builder on plots…)


	3. Chapter 3

Though I tried to keep the characters in canon to the series, I did expand on the events in the episode Murder Ward in order to work this story in. Overall, it didn't change the progression of the episode, just added to it. Thanks again for all your positive feedback. And I apologize now for any spelling or grammer errors you may find.

Hope you enjoy...(sorry, it's another kinda long chapter)

**Chapter Three**

In the middle of serving customers, the colorfully dressed proprietor in a burgundy paisley vest and orange silk shirt recognized the familiar curly headed, faded blue jean clad figure in the worn leather jacket as soon as he entered the Pits and smiled over a greeting.

Starsky nodded in acknowledgement and took up residency at an empty barstool, immediately diving into the bowl of peanuts sitting on the counter.

"Hey, my curly headed _compadre_," Huggy greeted him a few minutes later. "Long time no see. What will it be?"

At that moment a beautiful blonde, dressed in skin tight white pants, suede black boots and a sequined halter top came out of the woman's restroom and walked towards the bar, distracting Starsky's attention.

"Huh?" he replied.

Huggy rolled his eyes. "To drink, not drool over, my friend."

"Oh…uh a beer."

The wiry black man shook his head as he retrieved a tall glass and filled it up with a cold draft.

Starsky watched as the woman, still smiling, walked right towards him and then, to his disappointment, walked right passed and into the arms of a bald headed man in thick glasses sitting just a few stools down, leaving him staring.

The man openly glared at him then slid a protective arm about the woman's waist, steering her away from the counter to a booth in the back.

The bartender placed the beer next to him. "Maybe you want to chase this down with a cold shower?"

Starsky watched as the woman snuggled up against the bald man, laughing at something he said into her ear.

"I don't get it. What's that guy got, I don't?"

Huggy crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. "Well, for one thing, a _very_ fine lookin' foxy blonde lady."

Starsky's mouth lifted at the edges ruefully. "Can't argue with you there."

He picked up the beer and took a sip, savoring the fresh cold iciness as it slid down his parched throat.

"Speaking of blonds. Where's the other half of the whole?" Huggy asked.

Starsky's brow arched. "You make us sound like we're joined at the hip."

The black man snorted. "I see Siamese twins with more space between them, man."

"Hey! I _do_ occasionally have a life separate from my partner, you know," Starsky replied in a miffed voice.

"Hmm." Huggy replied, then added. "So when's he coming?"

He looked at the proprietor who leaned against the bar, grinning. "In a few minutes," Starsky confessed. "He's meeting me here for dinner."

It was more like forty minutes however before said blond finally walked in. Starsky noticed Hutch had already showered and was dressed for his date, having changed into a pair of light tan slacks, a white shirt and white linen jacket. By then however, Starsky had already devoured an entire bowl of peanuts.

"'Bout time you showed up," Huggy replied, having already taken a second bowl away leaving Starsky brooding.

Hutch was hardly given the chance to say hi to Huggy before his partner was grabbing him by the forearm. "What'sa matter with you? I've been waitin' forever! I could have eaten two meals by now!" Starsky complained as he steered his counterpart to their favorite vacant booth. "I'm starving here!"

"Thought I'd save myself some time and get ready first so I wouldn't have to back track later," Hutch explained.

Starsky snorted.

Diana, the waitress, came over a few minutes later and took their orders. Double cheeseburger with the works, fries, and yes she could combo them with onion rings, and a turkey sandwich on whole wheat, lightly toasted, with a salad, dressing on the side, please.

Both also added a draft beer.

She left the pair grinning.

A short time later she returned with their food and Starsky immediately shoved several fries in his mouth. He didn't come up for air until he was half way through his burger and had stolen Hutch's pickle.

"So what time are ya supposed to meet Ashley?"

Hutch checked his watch. "Her flight doesn't land for a little while yet. Supposed to pick her up at her roommate's place at nine."

Starsky washed his food down with a swig of beer. "Roommate, huh? Don't suppose she's hot and single and looking for the dark, handsome, Bogarty type?" he asked.

Hutch chuckled, reaching over to grab a fry off his partner's plate. "I'll be sure to check that out for ya buddy."

The two finished their meal in amicable silence, enjoying some decompression time after such a busy shift.

Once finished with his meal and his stomach at last satisfied, Starsky turned sideways in the booth, drawing one knee up and resting his elbow on it. He let his head drop back against the wall and relaxed while he sipped on the remains of his beer. With a tired sigh he closed his eyes.

Sitting opposite, Hutch took the opportunity to observe his partner. Once again he noticed the dark smudges under his eyes, the tired lines on the man's face.

"So what are you going to do tonight?" Hutch asked nonchalantly.

Starsky shrugged, still with his eyes closed, but he was not so relaxed that he didn't know what his partner was really asking. Cracking an eyelid, he shifted his gaze over to Hutch. "Don't worry, Blondie. I won't interrupt your evening of sordid sexual pleasure with another late night phone call."

"That's not what I meant," Hutch replied, more sharply than he intended, irked by his partner's stubbornness sometimes.

He knew Starsky's nature was to down play the nightmares, but years ago during their Academy days Hutch had seen first hand in an unguarded moment how the flashbacks affected his partner. Though seldom, if ever, did Starsky talk about his experiences in Nam, Hutch knew his friend had survived some pretty heavy stuff.

Over the years of their partnership and ever deepening friendship, the nightmares had receded to rare events but when they did come, Hutch usually knew they were brought on by some stressful trigger, like the time after he'd been poisoned by Bellamy and then almost a year later when he'd been kidnapped and tortured by a bunch of crazy cult members.

And what Hutch was sensing now was they were being triggered by their last undercover assignment at Cabrillo State. He could still remember that controlled look of panic when he'd returned to Starsky's room just before his shift was to end and removed the gag that had been placed around his partner's mouth in his role as the mental inmate Rudy Skyler.

Hutch had hated to see that underlying fear on his friend's face as he lay restrained in a straight jacket, knowing soon the lights would be going off and he would be left in total darkness. He had wanted to pull him out then, sensing the risk in their assignment becoming too great after a fifth murder had occurred. Starsky's cover character, Rudy Skyler, had been blamed. But his stubborn determined partner had refused knowing this would probably be their only opportunity to find the _real_ culprit responsible for the murders.

Reluctantly Hutch had given in and, at Starsky's bidding, was forced to replace the gag before he left so as not to arouse suspicion, knowing he would be leaving his partner to face the night alone, vulnerable and without back up. He had made sure though, the gag was only loosely applied so as not to injure him.

When he'd come on shift the next afternoon he noticed several disturbing things. One his partner was still being restrained in the straight jacket and although the gag had been removed, Starsky's lip was swollen and split open. But what concerned him more, what had shaken him were the set of angry bruises found around his partner's neck.

As soon as they were alone, Hutch had let loose his anger and demanded to know just what the hell had happened. Starsky in a raspy voice had at first tried to hedge the answer, then joke it off, but Hutch had pinned him down with an icy no-nonsense stare and a pointed finger into his partner's face. He was angry, furious.

"_No more lies! Y-you tell me what happened! You t-tell me, god damnit!" _He knew he was stuttering but he couldn't help it, his own guilt at leaving his partner alone without back-up gnawing at him.

Starsky finally confessed that he'd had a visitor during the night. He hadn't been able see who it had been in the dark, but guessed it had been one of the inmates out for a midnight romp and a few kicks.

Hutch had already learned earlier during shift report that the ward had experienced trouble with several disruptive patients in the middle of the night that had required a complete lockdown until the morning. The incident was a reminder to the undercover cop just how unpredictably volatile the mental institution could become at times.

"_That's it! I'm calling Dobey and pulling you out!"_

"_The hell you are!" Starsky had countered._

"_You think I'm going to leave you here after some lunatic tried to kill you last night while you lay strapped down in a god damn bed?"_

"_Please, Hutch, don't be angry."_

A couple of patients had passed near by. Still steaming, but afraid they'd be overheard, Hutch had pushed Starsky, sitting in the wheelchair, still strapped into the straightjacket, a little farther away.

Once out of sight and before Hutch could resume the argument, Starsky had passed on some valuable information one of the other inmates named Freddy had slipped him earlier that morning. Evidence that quickly led both detectives to the same assumption, that Dr. Matwick was somehow involved in the deaths. But the evidence Starsky had obtained was still circumstantial and they would need something with more meat if they were going to make any of the charges stick.

Hutch hadn't like the whole situation one bit knowing _Rudy Skyler_ was already on Matwick's schedule that night.

"_I'm not pulling out Hutch, not until we get this guy. Please! These people have no one to protect them from this nut. God knows how many more patients he's going to experiment on if we don't stop him."_

"_The only 'patient' I care about right now is sitting strapped in a wheelchair scheduled for a private "treatment" with that nut tonight. If you think I'm going to let that happen you're out of your fucking mind!"_

Starsky had grinned at the unintended pun._ "Then we'll have'ta get the evidence tonight."_

The beseeching look from the intense indigo blue eyes, eyes that seemed to have an unfathomable understanding of the helplessness and fear the victims must have felt, no matter the mental illness which had brought them here, and his partner's own fierce stubborn determination eventually made Hutch reluctantly give in. With ONE ultimatum. If Starsky didn't find the evidence they needed before Hutch's shift ended, that was it. He was pulling him out.

Starsky nodded. Their eyes locked. Without words being said Hutch knew what Starsky was asking of him and he also knew the curly haired man understood just how much this worried the blond.

_It'll be okay, Hutch. Ya just gotta trust me_, the eyes had communicated silently.

_I do trust you, buddy. It's the other nuts in here I'm worried about._

_I'm not 'cause I know you'll be watchin' my back._

_Just be careful, Gordo._

Later, Hutch had snuck back into Starsky's room, freed his partner out of the restraints then went back and tried to keep the staff distracted while his partner snuck into the medical director's office. Neither had known at the time, however, their covers had already been blown.

In the end they had gotten what they needed to put the doctor away, but it had been a close call for both and it had been Starsky who'd saved Hutch's life and nabbed Matwick.

Hutch had woken up a few hours later in the local hospital's ER ward, still coming down off the drug Matwick had slipped him.

The first thing he remembered seeing was Starsky's mug staring down at him, the blue eyes twinkling and a big grin plastered on his face.

"_Hey, Dopey, gonna wake up this time?"_

_Hutch had smiled groggily. "Heya." _

"_Heya yourself, partner. Had me a little worried there for a while. Thought Matwick had slipped ya one of his experimental Mickeys."_

"_We get 'em?"_

"_Yeah, partner, we got him. But I thought I told ya ta stay put."_

"_You needed me."_

"_Yeah, like I couldn't have caught a big fat man running around in a giant circle all by myself."_

"_He had a gun."_

"_That he couldn't hit the side of a barn with. Besides, he was almost out of bullets."_

"_I was just doing my job," Hutch replied irritably._

"_And what's that?"_

"_What do you think, Gordo? Watching your back of course."_

_Starsky smiled. "Well, that's a good thing then. 'Cause I don't trust nobody else to do it but you, ya big Lummox_."

_Hutch had grinned dopily back_.

After he'd gotten all his senses back and he'd been released, Hutch had the feeling something was still bothering his partner though, deep down on the inside. It worried him, especially after he'd found out about the sleepless nights his friend was currently experiencing.

Watching his partner now from across the table, Hutch pressed the issue. "I'm just saying it might help if you talk about it, you know, the nightmares."

Starsky's jaw stubbornly clamped shut. "Ain't nothing to talk about."

"Starsk."

"Hutch, just drop it, will ya!" he snapped. "I'm a big boy, okay? And they're just fucking dreams! They'll pass in time, like the rest. They always do."

A paper cut, a cold, his partner would whine unmercifully about, but the big stuff that would trigger flashbacks to some hellish event in his past and suddenly the man would clam up and try and deal with by himself out of some stupid sense of embarrassment and weakness.

Hutch looked at his partner, exacerbated. "It doesn't mean you have to get through them alone _partner_," he said, using a tone that was reserved strictly for the curly headed brunet, the one that voiced his genuine concern for his best friend's well being.

It didn't go un-noticed. "I know," Starsky replied contritely, knowing Hutch was sincere. "Sorry. Didn't mean to yell at ya. Guess I'm just tired and it's been a long shift."

"I know. Just call me, if you need to buddy. Okay?"

Starsky's head rolled to the side so he was now looking directly at his partner, giving him a little snort and a grin. "Okay, Mom. I promise."

Hutch nodded, satisfied.

Starsky set his empty glass of beer on the table, reached over to Hutch's glass and finished the last swig of his beer too. "Come on, Blondie. Let's go shoot some pool before this scene gets any soapier."

"All right," Hutch agreed, knowing this was as far as he was going to get to a _thanks partner for caring, I love ya too_.

For almost an hour the two played a combination of pool and one of Starsky's favorite games, trivia challenges. They bantered back and forth between shots everything from baseball stats to movies, laughing and trying to up the other or at the very least, used it as a distraction as each attempted to get the ball into the pocket.

Hutch took the lead on the pool game, but Starsky creamed him on trivia.

The two friends played until finally it was time for Hutch to leave to pick up his date. Before leaving though, Hutch was happy to see Starsky's dark mood of earlier seemed to have lightened considerably and really hoped his partner would get some needed sleep.

After he departed, a few more patrons entered the bar.

The gorgeous blonde and her bald headed companion had long since vanished and their booth was taken over by two other customers, both men, one wearing a set of coveralls, the other in an army surplus jacket. The two men ordered a pitcher of beer between them and some chasers, but from the look of both they had probably had a few rounds already. Anita, another of Huggy's regular waitresses, took the order and ignored their lurid comments before taking another order from a customer in a baseball cap, tinted shades and heavy sideburns.

A stringy dirty-haired blonde in an oversized knit sweater slid up onto one of the barstools at the end. Huggy filled her order, a whiskey straight up noticing how her fingers shook slightly, then left to fill the waitress' requests for the customers at the tables before tending to another customer, a Latino at the bar wanting a refill on his beer.

Starsky, feeling better but still not in the mood to go back to his empty apartment just yet, wandered back up to the bar to watch the Laker game from a TV mounted above.

"So what you been up to, bro?" Huggy asked a little later when he finally got a free moment between customers. "Haven't seen you and Blondie around much."

Starsky shrugged, told him they had just finished up on a case out at Cabrillo.

"Cabrillo?" The black man frowned. "What a minute. I think I read something about Cabrillo in the paper. Some chick reporter, what was her name? Jane Hutton. Yeah, she wrote some pretty heavy stuff about a crazy doc _allegedly_ whacking his patients off down there. Said, she busted the story wide open with the help of two undercover cops who, I quote, 'shall remain anonymous.' Man, don't tell me that was the two of you?"

Reluctantly Starsky nodded.

Huggy chuckled. "Well I certainly know which one of the two of you must have been the sex maniac."

Starsky frowned, offended. "Why does everyone assume _I_ was the inmate?"

Huggy took one look at the brunet and his wild crazy curls. "You gotta ask me that?"

He pouted sourly. "Hey, I couldn't have been the intern!"

Anita interrupted their conversation. "Hey, Hug, we got a couple of real winners over in the back booth," she thumbed, looking annoyed. "You better cut them off pretty soon before one of them gets a pitcher upside his head the next time he tries to reach over and pinch my ass."

Starsky laughed, because knowing the gutsy waitress, she would do just that.

"Sure, sugar. I'll take care of it. Be back in a sec."

Anita stayed behind the bar wiping the counter down with a rag.

The stringy dirty-blonde had left, so too had the man in the baseball cap and a few others.

"So, Curly, what can I get you, love?"

Starsky, now feeling pretty tired, smiled lazily. "Well, if I wasn't so afraid of getting a pitcher lopped over _my_ head, I'd ask you for your phone number and address."

She grabbed him by his cheeks with one hand. "You're safe with me sweety. I _know_ you're harmless," she teased before releasing him.

He supported the side of his head against his open palm, elbow propped on the bar. "You do, huh? Why, because I'm a cop?"

"Yeah, big tough cop on the outside, big softy on the in."

"Hey, you got me confused with my partner, the Big Blond," he teased back. "I'm a regular Casanova when you get ta know me."

"Yeah, right!"

Anita accepted the flirtations with the grain of salt they were intended, both fully aware of the fact the waitress was head over heels for an ex-pro football player built like a refrigerator. On top of that, she had a strict rule about dating cops.

Starsky let out a big yawn, his eyes drooping.

"I think the only thing you need right now honey is to go home and go to bed."

"Is that an offer?"

"Only in your dreams, sweety."

"Just my luck," Starsky sighed.

Raised voices on the other side of the room caught Starsky's attention.

"No one tells me when we gotta stop drinkin'." The drunk nudged his buddy. "Ain't that right?"

"You got that right," the equally drunken red-head slurred back.

"Hey, man. You two can drink yourselves into oblivion for all I care, but not in my establishment if you're going to mistreat my ladies, you dig," Huggy replied.

"Ladies? That's a laugh!" the man in the army surplus jacket snickered.

"Finish what you've got, gentlemen, but after that, your tab is closed here along with your welcome."

One of the two men suddenly grabbed the wiry proprietor by the colorful paisley vest. "We'll go when were ready, you got that, _boy_!"

"You tell 'em!" the other one jeered, laughing.

Neither had noticed Starsky sliding off the stool and approaching, his tiredness a few minutes earlier gone.

"You gotta problem here, Hug?"

The two men looked up at the dark haired man now standing a few feet away.

"Just a slight breakdown in gentlemanly communication," Huggy replied, still forced over the table by the grip of the drunk.

"Shove off, pal!"

"First I ain't your pal and second if you two stupid heads still have a single brain functioning between the two of you, I would release my friend now."

"Who you calling stupid?" The man in the army surplus jacket sneered, letting go of Huggy without realizing it as he got to his feet.

The black man immediately stepped back several feet.

The man was a good four inches taller than Starsky and about fifteen pounds heavier.

"Isn't it obvious? The ugly one," Starsky replied.

The other staggered to his feet as well, nearly the same height as companion but a lot skinnier. "Is he talking about you or me?"

"Shut up!"

Huggy flanked the brunet's side watching the solidly pack man assessing the situation beneath half closed eye lids. It was a well known fact that people often underestimated the detective's casual stance.

The two drunks faced the shorter man, clearly assuming they could easily take him on.

"No one talks to us like that! We're having a good time here, and we ain't plannin' on leavin' until were good 'n ready!"

Starsky's features darkened. "Well that's where our difference of opinion comes in. Because you see, my very good friend here has already asked you to leave very nicely."

"And who's gonna make us?" the army surplus jacket drunk challenged, stepping forward into Starsky's face.

What happened next took both drunks completely by surprise as the curly haired man grabbed the man by the wrist, spun him around and pushed him into his companion.

Both fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

Huggy was at his side in an instant, holding a bat that Anita had grabbed from behind the bar and had slipped him a few seconds earlier. As the drunk in the army jacket stumbled back to his feet, Huggy shoved the bat against the second one's jugular vein, pressing down just enough to get his point across. "My friend, I suggest you stay down!"

The red haired drunk raised his hands in compliance.

His counterpart wasn't quite as smart, and once to his feet, took a swing at Starsky who easily sideswiped the move, returning a kidney punch to the larger man, another to his gut, then with a swipe of a foot, knocked the man off balance.

With a grunt, the drunk went down hard.

Having dealt with more than enough crap for the day, Starsky picked the man up by the scruff of his shirt and belt and marched him out the back door with Huggy accompanying the second, the bat prodding him in his back along the way.

They pushed the two outside into the alley.

"Go home fellas and sleep it off," Starsky suggested.

The two drunks staggered to their feet.

"You can't do this to us!" the drunk in the army jacket shouted, taking a step forward.

"I just did." He then pulled his badge out of his back pocket and flashed it at the two of them. "Now if I have to _waste_ my time hauling your two drunken carcasses in, believe me, you two turkeys are going to regret it!"

"You're a cop?" the lankier drunk in coveralls replied.

"You got that right. One _very_ tired and _very_ cranky cop. So go home!"

"Lousy cop! You think I'm afraid of that badge, of you!" The man in the army jacket belligerently argued back, taking another step forward.

Starsky's face hardened. Damn, this guy really _was_ stupid!

The other drunk seeing the angry, no-nonsense expression on the cop's face restrained his loud mouthed companion, pushing him back. "Come, on. We don't need the trouble."

With a grumble, the drunk allowed himself to be led away.

Once the pair staggered down the alley out of sight, Huggy straightened his vest. "Hey, thanks Curly."

"Anytime, Hug."

They walked back to the bar. "You know, you can be pretty scary sometimes, my brother," Huggy commented.

Starsky stayed just a little bit longer until his mind was telling him it had finally caught up to his tired body and it was time to head home. He went to pay his tab, but Huggy refused. "On the house."

Too tired to argue, Starsky accepted the thanks.

"Take it easy, Curly. See ya around on the flip side."

Outside Starsky headed for the Torino parked a few blocks down enjoying the much cooler air. The marine layer had moved in a few hours earlier, zapping away the heat of the day. He was tired and ready to just crawl into bed hoping he'd be able to sleep through the night without another nightmare.

He thought about his partner and couldn't help but grin. _Well at least one of us, partner, will be sleeping like a satisfied contented little baby tonight._

Starsky dug out his car keys as he passed an alley between blocks. Suddenly without warning he was grabbed from behind and pulled into the dark interior. He was swung around and his body was smashed, face first, into a brick wall, splitting his lip. Immediately a fist impacted into his left side expelling a grunt out of him. Hands then grabbed him again but the street savvy cop's instincts kicked in and as he was whipped around, Starsky brought his left arm forward in a thrusting jab. He heard an "oomph" as it connected with flesh. His assailant doubled over and Starsky immediately followed with a right that also made contact.

He took a step back but got no further before something hard and solid hit his ribs from a second attacker in the shadows. He staggered backwards, his body folding, turning inward before pain suddenly exploded in the back of his head, just behind his left ear and he fell to the ground.

TBC...

(Poor Starsky. Don't we just love to mess with him!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Waves of white hot nauseating pain sliced through the entire left side and back of his skull, crested, rolled, ebbed away only to be followed immediately by another crashing into him threatening to send him over the edge into the dark abyss of unconsciousness. He fought the sensation more out of innate stubbornness than any type of conscious thought.

He tried to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut.

A kick flipped him over onto his back, sending another dagger of hot liquid searing through his ribs. His head rolled uncontrollably to the side with the momentum forcing a strangled, agonized moan to escape his lips. The wave of nausea that followed the jarring movement made him gag and he nearly choked on the bile forced up into the back of his throat.

He at last managed to pry his eyes open into slits and saw the blurred dark figures of his attackers.

Instinctively his left hand reached under the right flap of his jacket, but it was knocked aside with another swift kick. A second later his gun was stripped from its holster.

Hands then grabbed him by his jacket, yanked him up and sent a new crescendo of pain through his head.

His hands reached up, tried to grab at the wrists as black spots swam across his blurred vision.

Suddenly the alley was bathed in brightness and somewhere Starsky thought he registered the sound of a siren.

"_Shit, it's the cops, man! Let's get out of here!"_

He was abruptly released and scuffling footsteps quickly faded.

In the silence that followed, Starsky's eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out.

~S/H~

The Lincoln town car had completed its left hand turn apparently unaware of the events in the alley and continued down the main street, while two blocks away an ambulance with its sirens blaring rounded the corner on its way to Memorial.

~S/H~

_He could feel the pull of the darkness…_

"_Why did you have to do that for?" The voice said quietly, close enough to his ear he could feel the exhale of air on his face. For a brief moment their heads touched. "He was our only lead."_

_His vision cleared for a brief moment and met glittering blue eyes filled with despair._

_It was so hard to breath now, but he replied, "Seemed a good idea at the time."_

_The darkness was pulling him down and this time he didn't try to fight it._

_Hands slid under his armpits, eased him down against the wall as it encompassed him._

_Somewhere he could hear the voice again. It was angry now, so angry._

"_Don't you fuckin' do this! Not now! We still have time!"_

_He wanted to tell the voice not to be angry, it was just that he was so tired, so very tired of all the pain, all the hurt, but the voice didn't seem to want to listen._

_The pain that had been tearing his guts out was suddenly replaced by pain to his chest, then strangely the sensation of air being forced into his lungs._

_The angry voice was breathless, almost exhausted. "Breath, damnit! Breath! Don't give up! Don't you give up on us! You hear me!"_

_The words echoed in his mind._

"_Don't give up! Don't give up!" his own voice pleaded to the gasping, high pitched, rattling wheeze beside him. "Oh, god, please…They'll find us! They'll find us!"_

_But the gasps suddenly ceased leaving only stillness behind. Terror filled him in the quiet emptiness which followed. Tears stung his eyes as he lay there bound, gagged, waiting._

_And eventually he heard it, the lock being turned…_

~S/H~

Consciousness awareness came back with a jerk and drew out a deep moan. Eyes struggled to open and when they finally did hazy, blurred shadows greeted him along with pain: excruciating, throbbing, stabbing pain and another groan escaped his lips.

Slowly he rolled off his back and onto his side gritting his teeth as his head, back and ribs protested with the effort. The sudden wave of dizziness that hit him a moment later had his fingers scraping the coarse texture of asphalt beneath him as he rode it out.

The odor of decay and urine assaulted his senses making him cringe and he curled his body protectively inward, waiting.

When the blows to his back and legs didn't come as he expected, shakily he unfurled his body, then slowly rolled onto his stomach and up onto bent arms and knees. Gasping from the pain shooting through his head and bruised ribs, he awkwardly forced himself into standing position.

Immediately he staggered, falling sideways until his shoulder hit the side of a building. His palm came out, gripped the rough texture of brick to steady himself as his world tried to tilt to one side.

His vision remained blurred, incapacitating him, forcing him to move by feel more than sight with only one instinctual thought in mind, to escape, to hide before they came back.

Injured and confused, Starsky unknowingly groped his way along the wall moving in the opposite direction down the alley, away from the Torino parked only a few blocks down the street, and away from the Pits. He felt his way around trashcans, abandoned wooden crates, pipes running up along the mortar and brick, all the while trying to remain upright as his head swam with a kaleidoscope of colors flashing in front of him.

He reached the end of alley, felt the openness in front of him and forced his eyes to open wider, to focus, but only fuzzy, blurring images wavered in front of him. Pushing off the wall he stumbled and nearly fell between two parked cars. Leaning against one of them, he fought another wave of nausea and when he was able to lift his head saw a blurred flash of light, movement just ahead. He took a few steps forward.

A horn blared and as he looked up, he was immediately blinded in the beams of oncoming headlights. Instinctively he flung his body to the side, the passing vehicle nearly mowing him down.

From the open window the driver shouted, "Fuckin' drunk!"

The momentum sent him crashing to the ground and up against another parked car on the opposite side of the street.

A shaky hand came up, gripped the metal bumper.

"_What'sa matter, Skyler, loose your balance?"_ a voice sneered.

He shook his head trying to push the voice away before he pulled himself back up and staggered down the sidewalk. Reaching out with one hand to feel his way, the other held his throbbing head, the pain stabbing with such intensity that it bowed his shoulders with each step.

He clung to whatever would give him support, keep him upright: a lamppost, a newspaper dispenser, the sides of the buildings, but it was getting harder to think, to focus.

When he came to a chain link fence he wrapped his fingers into the metal wire and followed its length until it suddenly ended. By now both his legs were shaking badly. Suddenly his knees buckled. His body twisted oddly around the end the fence and he landed awkwardly on his left hip. Only his fingers still gripping the wire prevented him from completely falling on his face.

His head lolled back, staring at the distorted links of chain he clung to and the image of wire and mesh, and bars over windows flashed through his mind.

It disturbed him and he reached up, grabbed at the links only wanting to escape. With a grunt he managed to pull himself up enough to untangle his feet from their awkward position and got back up on his knees. But the effort tired him out and he had to rest a moment, letting his head fall against his forearm.

For a second the pain eased and when he raised his head his vision cleared enough to make out trees, grass, a path, a light. _Freedom?_

Pulling himself back up into a standing position, he moved towards the light but his vision began to blur again and his head swam. Suddenly his left foot stepped off into "nothing" and he pitched sideways. With a cry, he tumbled, bounced and finally came to an abrupt stop when he hit something solid and knew no more.

~S/H~

Anita set a tray of cleaned glasses back under the bar while Huggy finished sweeping up the floor. Diana, who had come in earlier, had already gone home and their last single customer had left the Pits fifteen ago.

Huggy started switching off the lights.

"What do you want to do about the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher?" Anita asked.

"Just leave them. We can get them in the morning. Go ahead and call it an early night. I'm beat."

She pulled off her apron. "Well you don't have to ask me twice, boss."

Huggy grinned. "Just gimme a sec and I'll walk you to your car."

"Sure, thanks."

Less than five minutes later, Huggy was escorting the waitress to her car never liking the idea of his girls leaving the bar alone after hours, especially in this neighborhood.

They had only gone down a few blocks when Huggy spotted the Torino parked on the opposite side of the street.

Anita noticed it almost immediately at the same time. "Hey, isn't that Curly's car?"

"Yeah."

They cautiously approached the candy apple red car with its distinctive white tapering stripe down each side. Huggy walked around the car, checked the doors. Both were locked. He leaned in to peer inside. It was empty.

"I don't get it. What's Curly's car doing here?" Anita asked. "He left hours ago."

"I don't know."

"Maybe he had some car trouble?"

Huggy's face deepened into a heavy frown. "Yeah, but if he did, he would'a just come back to the Pits."

"But he didn't, Hug. I'm sure of it."

An unsettling feeling hit the pit of Huggy's stomach. He grabbed the waitress by the forearm, dragging her back to the bar.

~S/H~

The phone peeled incessantly waking Hutch up. Beside him, the soft naked body spooned against him stirred.

Rolling onto his back, his hand groped sleepily for the receiver, dragging it to his ear. "'Lo."

He was more than a little surprised to hear Huggy on the other end.

He looked at the clock. It was 1:36 in the morning.

"Hutch. I need you to come down to the Pits right away."

"Huh? Why? What's up?"

"Just come. I'm not sure but I think Curly may be in trouble."

At the mention of his partner, Hutch was suddenly fully awake. "Starsky? What do you mean? What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not really sure, man."

"Huggy, you're not making any sense."

"I think Curly's missing. Just come down. I'll explain when you get here."

The phone went dead leaving Hutch to stare into the receiver. _Missing?_

Clicking on the light and flooding the bedroom alcove in brightness, Hutch got out of bed.

His date, who had indeed given him a beautiful night, rolled over, watching curiously as he moved about the room, pulling on tan pants, a white shirt, searching for his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.

"Sorry, I need to go."

She propped herself up on her elbows, looking at the clock a bit irritably. "Go? Go where? It's the middle of the night, Hutch."

"I know. I just need to go."

"Is this supposed to be my brush off? Was our evening that bad?" she teased.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "No. No. It was great. It's just that call was about my partner."

"Your partner? But you're not even on duty. I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait until the morning at least."

Hutch looked at her oddly.

"Look. It's still late. Why don't you go back to sleep. I'll probably be back in a couple of hours."

Her fine brow arched. "My flight leaves at eight-thirty."

"Oh…well, uh," he dug into his pants, pulled out some cash. "In case I'm not back here's some money for a cab."

He thrust the bills into her hand, leaned over to give her a kiss on the lips in apology before quickly pulling on socks and shoes, grabbing his magnum and a white linen jacket off the back of a chair and heading out the door.

The airline stewardess sighed into the empty room, and then rolled her eyes as she flopped back down in bed. Cops!

~S/H~

Hutch examined the Torino. It did indeed looked perfectly undisturbed, not a scratch on it. From his pocket he pulled out his set of keys, searching the ring for the extra spare to his partner's car. Each had a set of the other's keys just in case of an emergency.

He unlocked the car, checked the interior. It was clean, just as Starsky liked it. He then put the key in the ignition and flicked his wrist. The muscle car immediately came to life, which knocked out any idea of apparent car trouble.

Shutting the car off, he climbed out, glancing up at Huggy and Anita who stood nearby.

"And what time did you say he left the Pits?"

"About ten thirty," Huggy answered.

"And he didn't leave with anyone?"

"No. He was tired and was just going to go home," Anita replied. "You think something really happened to him?"

"I don't know. But I do know one thing. Starsky wouldn't have just left his car here without a good reason." Hutch thought. "Huggy, did he get into any trouble while he was at the Pits tonight, I mean after I left?"

"Well, no, not really. Except maybe with those two drunks," the black man replied.

Hutch's eyes narrowed. "What drunks?"

Anita explained. "Two losers who got a little too friendly with my ass and took it a little too personal when Huggy cut them off."

"What happened?"

"Starsky just helped me, help them find the back door," Huggy replied.

"What did they look like?"

"Two white dudes, little taller than Curly. One was little heavier than Starsky, the other was skinnier with red hair. The bigger guy wasn't too happy with Starsky buttin' in and got a little mouthy when we pushed both their asses out in the alley, especially when he flashed his badge and threatened to haul them both in if they didn't leave."

"And you weren't concerned about this?" There was accusation in Hutch's voice, the light blue eyes turning dark.

"Hey, both of us just figured it was the alcohol talkin', nothin' else," Huggy defended himself. "Besides, man, the two of them left after that."

"What else can you tell me about them?"

"Nothin', Hutch. I told you."

"Think, both of you. Anything. Had they been in here before?"

"Nah, I don't think so. Would'a remembered those two," Huggy replied and Anita agreed.

"Anything distinguishing about them? They way they were dressed, talked?"

"I don't know, man. The big angry dude had on an army surplus jacket, his buddy some kind of coveralls."

"Coveralls?"

"Yeah, you know, like mechanics wear."

"Did you see any type of logo on them?"

"No, sorry Hutch. I really wasn't paying that much attention," Anita apologized.

"It's okay." Hutch sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He then climbed back into the Torino, reached over and opened the glove box and retrieved a flashlight that was always kept inside before climbing back out.

"What are you going to do?" Huggy asked.

"Take a walk. Look around."

"I'll come with you."

"Someone should stay at the Pits. You know, in case Starsky shows up back there."

"I can stay," Anita offered.

"Thanks," Hutch replied.

Hutch returned to the entrance of the Pits after Anita had told him Starsky had left out the front door and not the back alley, trying to trace a logical path his partner would have taken to his car. He walked slowly, shining the flashlight at the ground, looking for any types of clues, not knowing really what else to do.

He crossed an alley, paused, back tracked, directing the beam down into the dim interior. Huggy followed as Hutch walked cautiously into it, passing a dumpster which reeked of decaying trash, scanning the darkness. But it was empty, deserted except for the roaches scurrying over pieces of debris scattered about.

About to turn and walk back, something in the beam caught Hutch's attention. Crouching down, he touched the small dark burgundy pool accumulated on a discarded paper bag with the tip of his finger. When he examined it, his fingertip was dark red.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks wuemsel and Sparkle for your encouragement to attempt to write this story, and a chance to bounce a few ideas off both of you. It's a challenging piece to write for a novice writer, but I'm giving it my best shot!**

**Chapter Five**

"What is it?" Huggy asked, leaning over Hutch's shoulder.

"Blood."

The black man bit his lip. He didn't want to voice the next question on his mind.

"It's still pretty fresh," Hutch added. Still in a crouched position, he swept the beam further around the immediate area. Not far away he found a piece of pipe. There was more blood coating one end.

"Hey, Hutch. Over here," Huggy called to him.

He stood up and immediately stepped over to his side. A set of keys dangled from Huggy's fingers. "Found them over there."

Hutch took the keys, immediately recognizing them as belonging to his partner. The ring had a small metal charm on it with the Ford "Torino" logo on it, one Hutch had given to Starsky for a birthday present one year. A small thing, just a little something really, but he still remembered the excited boyish delight his partner had expressed upon receiving it.

"_I knew you liked my car!"_

"_Don't get too excited. I was really trying to find one that read 'Stupid Red Tomato.'" _Hutch had replied.

His partner's smile had simply widened though and again Hutch had been reminded just how easily it was to give joy to his partner in something so simple.

Looking down at the keys now, a sudden sick feeling overshadowed the joy of the memory.

"Are they Curly's?" Huggy asked.

"Yeah." He clutched them tightly in his hand.

He went back to the blood stained pipe.

_What the hell you get into buddy?_

Huggy read the worried look on the Big Blond. "Hey, man. It don't necessarily mean anything. I mean, maybe the blood's not his, Hutch. Could be someone else's and Curly's down at the precinct right now booking some pervert with a fat bloody nose."

Hutch shook his head doubtfully. That edgy needle prickly sensation ran up his spine, the one which was always homed in on his partner. "No, Hug. I think something happened to him."

Worry motivated him into action. He took off down the alley, fanning the flashlight into every corner and crevice calling out to his partner. Huggy followed, but the quick searched yielded no results. They back tracked, came out of the alley and searched in a similar fashion around the immediate area outside the Pits and the Torino with the same results. Hutch then went back to the Torino, picked up the radio mike and got a hold of Dispatch, just to make sure Starsky hadn't called in and hoping at the same time his gut instinct was wrong. But as he already suspected, Detective Starsky hadn't placed any calls through since they had logged off duty.

"What's going on Hutch?" the dispatcher asked.

"Detective Starsky is missing and he may be hurt. I want an APB Missing Officer put out right away on all channels." He then gave his current location and requested a forensics team to go over the scene. "Also get the Night Watch Officer to call the local hospitals and send a patrol car immediately out to Detective Starsky's home just in case I'm wrong and call me back as soon as possible."

"Roger, Zebra Three."

~S/H~

Something was poking him repeatedly, annoyingly in the side. He wanted to push it away, but the effort to move was too great, his mind trapped in a hazy fog he couldn't quite waken from.

Vaguely Starsky was aware of the voice above him, but it sounded distant, weird, like someone was talking to him through a tunnel.

"Well, what'a we got here, Levi?"

The pokes were now replaced by hands. He wanted to reach up to brush the annoyances away, but his arms felt like lead weights and belonging to someone else, unresponsive to his commands. Through his stupor he was only distantly aware of his watch being stripped off his wrist, his pockets emptied.

"Well, well, well, lookee here. Found me a real po-lice man. What you doing here, piggy?"

He heard a little laugh and winced. He didn't like it, the sound of laughter in the dark.

"Got yourself into a bit of trouble, huh?"

Something blunt poked him in the side of the head and he groaned involuntarily.

"Sure don't look too good if ya ask me."

Another pause.

"But I sure do like that jacket though. Always wanted me a leather jacket like this. Don't suppose you'd let me try it on?" Another little chuckle followed his silence. "Well, that's mighty nice of you, Mr. Po-lice man."

He felt the jacket being tugged off him and the sudden coolness of the air from being robbed of its warmth made him shiver.

"Hey, lookee here. Fits me perfect. Thanks!"

His cheek was patted.

"Now don't you worry none, little piggy. I'll take good care of this for you."

The voice chuckled and then stopped abruptly. The figure moved suddenly away as if startled. Still in a hazy disoriented fog, Starsky thought he heard voices approaching. He tried to roll on his side, to crawl away, hide, but his body remained unresponsive.

~S/H~

The two figures, both dressed in jeans, t-shirts and denim jackets walked briskly along a long chain link fence stealing glances over the back of their shoulders.

"Man, you're crazy you know that! We were only supposed to rough him up, not…"

A black and white unit rounded the corner and headed their way.

"Shut up!"

The pair quickly darted across the street and ducked into a stoop, pressing deep into the shadows, a glint of steal suddenly appearing. Only when the police cruiser passed and rounded the next corner out of sight did they emerge. With a twisted smile, the sandy brown haired youth retracted the long switch blade knife, that still contained a ring of blood around the base, and slipped it into his pocket.

His dark haired companion regarded the pleasured look grimly as the two figures took off, quickly disappearing into the night.

~S/H~

Once the forensics team arrived Hutch quickly gave them directions on what he wanted done and they went about carefully dusting then bagging the pipe and collecting blood samples. They promised to have the evidence processed as quickly as possible.

Hutch nodded and went back to the Pits where Huggy had returned earlier and Anita was still waiting. Huggy had already filled her in.

Hutch turned to the black man. "I need your help Huggy."

"You gotta ask?" he replied, already having retrieved another flashlight.

Unfortunately both knew there were a lot of run-down buildings, warehouses, tenement apartments and back alleys in the immediate area to search.

Anita said she'd stay until they got back. "Just in case," she told Hutch.

He and Huggy left the Pits via the back alley entrance where Hutch had parked the Ford when he'd arrived. As soon as he climbed in, he heard the radio dispatch operator trying to reach him.

"Zebra-Three. Hutchinson here."

"Detective Starsky was not at home, but we just got a call Hutch. Six blocks from your current location a body was just found."

Color drained from his face.

"Is it Detective Starsky?"

"They don't know. There is no ID on him. Just a general description, Caucasian male, six feet, dark brown hair, 25-40, wearing jeans."

"Where?"

The dispatch operator gave the location.

Hutch slammed the door on the Ford and turned on the ignition as Huggy quickly came around the other side and got in.

He threw the car in reverse and pressed on the gas. The Ford lurched backwards but a few seconds later he heard a thunk followed by a loud pop and then the car shuddered. He got out and to his dismay found the left back tire completely flat, a twisted piece of metal impeded in the rubber.

He kicked the tire, cursing loudly, then for added measure kicked the door shut in blind frustration.

Huggy was at his side immediately when it looked like his next move was going to put a fist right through the side glass. "Hey, Amigo. Take it easy."

"Hug."

"I know, but we don't know for sure it's him, okay?"

"I know." He put his hands to his head, then raked his figures through his hair and looked down at the tire. It was going to take at least fifteen minutes to change it, unless…He got no further in thought before he was racing down the alley leaving a startled Huggy trying to catch up.

Hutch was already flinging the Torino's door open by the time Huggy caught up with him.

It felt initially strange to be behind the wheel of the muscle car again. Seldom, if ever, did Starsky allow him to drive it after the amount of ribbing Hutch gave over his "baby."

It took Hutch a few nervous minutes to get used to handling the powerful engine as he sent the car into a wide skid with the first turn. Huggy gripped the door handle.

"Uh, sorry."

"Just get us there in one piece, man."

They arrived at the location a few minutes later. It was a neighborhood park, only a few blocks large, surrounded on two sides by a chain link fence. Hutch brought the Torino to a screeching halt next to a black and white unit parked at the entrance.

A uniformed officer approached and was about to ask the casually dressed man to stay back until Hutch flashed his badge.

"Sorry Sergeant," the uniform quickly apologized. He then motioned to Hutch, "This way."

A second uniformed officer looked at Huggy's colorfully dressed attire.

"I'm with him," the black man merely said before hurrying to catch up to Hutch.

Hutch followed the officer down a path passed a set of playground equipment to the back of a small building illuminated by a single light in the corner and then down a short flight of steps.

There he was introduced to another pair of plainclothes detectives out of the 55th Precinct, apparently already assigned to the case. The senior detective, a man in his late forties, wearing a wrinkled brown suit, introduced himself as Detective Frank Marcello and his partner, a lean, clean cut blond in his late twenties as Detective Samuel Johansen. Hutch was informed they had arrived on the scene just a few minutes earlier.

The patrolman who'd first responded to call explained. "A busboy found him when he was taking a short cut through the park on his way home from work. The victim was beaten pretty badly, but probably died from a knife wound to the chest. Looks like he bled out. We heard the APB put out on your partner, Detective Hutchinson, shortly before this one was called in. Unfortunately there's no ID on him, but the general description…" the patrolman let the rest fade.

Hutch approached the scene and saw that the body had already been covered with a crime blanket and more uniforms were busy taping off the area.

He squatted down at the head, his stomach in knots as Huggy came up behind him. He hesitated briefly as he took a deep breath, stealing himself for what he might find.

_Please, babe. Don't be under there._

He lifted the blanket.

His heart stopped as he stared.

The long exhale which followed was full of relief. "It's not him."

~S/H~

After the two other detectives viewed the body, Marcello took Hutch aside. "I'm sorry to hear about your missing partner, Sergeant Starsky, isn't it?"

Hutch nodded.

"You two are out of Ninth, Captain Dobey's command?" Hutch nodded again. "Heard good things about you two. You guys have quite an impressive track record. So were the two of you down here on an undercover case or something when your partner disappeared?"

Hutch shook his head. "No, actually we were both off duty. We were having dinner at a bar that belongs to a friend of ours. I left earlier and got a call later from my friend after he noticed my partner's car still parked in the neighborhood after hours." Hutch then explained about his partner's keys and the blood found in the alley and his concerns that his partner was hurt.

"It's a pretty dangerous area around here at night," Marcello agreed with his concern. "Matter of fact, this is our second homicide call already for the night."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, just finished with a one over at the Stardust Hotel, a hooker was bludgeoned to death."

"Any idea who did it?"

He shrugged. "In this neighborhood? Could be a john or maybe even her pimp, who knows." The older man didn't seem to show much sympathy. "Look, I'm sorry about your partner, know the worry has got to be pretty rough. My partner and I are going to be around here for a while dealing with this stiff, but we'll definitely keep our eyes and ears opened."

Hutch extended his hand. "Thanks."

"Hey, don't mention it. We gotta all stick together down here."

~S/H~

Johansen joined Marcello a few moments later as he stood watching the tall blond detective walk away and rejoin his friend and then disappear back down the path.

Johansen had only been partnered with the experience detective for the last eight months, having transferred to the 55th Precinct once he'd gotten his rank, and though he respected the senior detective greatly, he still found it hard to read the man sometimes. But he was still eager to learn from him.

"You seem deep in thought."

Marcello grunted.

"Kinda odd, don't you think?" Johansen pressed.

"What's odd?"

"Two murders and a missing undercover cop all in the same area within a couple of hours."

"It's a big city and a lousy part of town," Marcello replied.

"I don't know. Hutchinson looks pretty worried."

Marcello shrugged, placing his hands loosely in the front pockets of his slacks. "Man's missing his partner. I can certainly understand his worry."

"I heard a lot about Hutchinson and Starsky. Their supposed to be tight, _real_ tight."

"Yeah, well, some partners are like that."

Johansen frowned, looking at his own partner who continued to stare down the empty path, his face masked "So, what _are_ you thinking then?"

Marcella's gaze slid over to the younger man. With a tired, almost impatient sigh, he replied, "I'm _thinking_ we've got a lot of work to do. And I _thinking_ I'm not going to get to bed anytime soon." With that, the seasoned detective turned and walked back up to the crime scene leaving Johansen behind to follow in his wake.

~S/H~

Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar pressure of a stress induced headache starting to work its way up and through both eyes sockets and across his forehead as he and Huggy returned to the Torino.

Though his relief had been profound that the body had not turned out to be that of his partner, the fact that Starsky was still missing and probably hurt, kept Hutch's anxiety level up.

After reporting back into dispatch his findings, Hutch again checked if anything else had been reported in, especially from the local hospitals. Starsky, nor anyone fitting his description, had been bought into Memorial. County General also came up zilch. They were still checking around to the other smaller hospitals and acute emergency clinics in the area.

Hutch then put a call into Dobey. Once he got through the verbal tirade about being woken up in the middle of the night enough to explain his abrupt call, the other end of the line became quiet.

"Tell me what you've got."

Hutch updated his captain.

"All right Hutch. I want you to keep me posted."

Hutch got out of the Torino then leaned against its hood as he tried to think. "He could be anywhere in the area, Huggy. We need to check around at all the after hour places, see if anyone's seen him."

"Well there's a couple of places the brothers hang around I can check out, 'ceptin' they ain't gonna talk to the likes of you."

"They will if they know something about Starsky!"

"Wow, Blondie, that's just what I'm talkin' about. You can't approach these brothers all Rambo cop, man. It requires a finer touch, dig?"

He understood what Huggy was saying. The black man had a certain finesse when it came to charming information out of the streets, but it was also a talent he preferred to keep exclusively to himself.

"Look, just drop me off where I tell you and give me a little time to work my magic and I'll meet you back at the Pits later."

"All right."

They got back into the Torino and Hutch let Huggy out of the car a few minutes later. Before he'd reached the end of the block, the black man had already disappeared from sight.

Now alone Hutch cruised the streets and back alleys is a circular grid like fashion from the Pits, still holding onto the major assumption of course that his partner was still in the immediate area and not perhaps taken voluntarily or involuntary somewhere else.

He also targeted a few after hour places he knew about as well, ones the street wise New York born but Bay City raised teen had introduced him to in the early years of their partnership as detectives after Hutch had transferred out of "Iron" Mike's division and into Metro's Ninth.

In those early years, Starsky had eagerly shown Hutch the ropes and just what was needed to work the inner city streets until the Minnesota, upper-class bred Nordic blond was as comfortable cruising the run down back alleys in his battered Ford as any inhabitant of the area.

It had been one of the things Hutch had always valued in Starsky, his ability and complete willingness to share what could not be learned from books, only street savvy experience without prejudice or conceit. From the start of their friendship at the Academy and through their uniformed patrol years at different precincts, Starsky had always been this way, willing to give, but most especially after they had become partners.

Reflecting back, Hutch had always somewhat snobbishly prided himself on his intelligence, his academic abilities and even his physical fitness, but had soon learned the creative more gifted talents had always lain with his energetic, often boyishly enthusiastic and fiercely protective partner.

Besides Starsky's chameleon-like ability to alter his personality, body language, and facial expression to completely match whatever undercover "role" he was playing as easily as if he'd been born into it, his partner had a natural instinct for finding those things that were just out of place, or the ability to tell when they'd been "had" by the vibe he felt in the air. This combined with hard-headed ass grit beneath the boyish, joking exterior, made his partner a formidable and often underestimated opponent.

But what Hutch valued the most was the one thing Starsky had given him that had allowed Hutch to see what he kept the most closely guarded behind the tough street cop persona. Never before, or since, had Hutch known _anyone_ who had placed their trust so completely in _him_. But Starsky did. He trusted Hutch in mind, body and soul. And with that trust Hutch saw the vulnerable side of him, the child who still sought physical comfort when hurt, and the man whose compassion and capacity to love was only matched by the depth of grief in its loss.

It was all these traits that bonded Hutch to his partner as fiercely and as loyally as Starsky to him. And right now, it was that bond that drove Hutch to do whatever was necessary to find his best friend.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**(Another slightly long chapter. Thanks for all the great positive feedback. Keeps me plugging away at this story.)**

**Chapter Six**

The two denim clad figures squeezed through a loose board in the wooden fence which dumped them into an overgrown vacant lot. They headed towards a pile of junk cars that where clumped together, off to the side, half hidden from view.

"There's fucking cops all over the place man!" Miguel spat.

"Shut up, already. You think I don't know that!" Trey replied.

"You shouldn't have wasted him out in the open. Man we could'a been seen!"

"I didn't have much of a choice now did, I?" Trey snapped.

Miguel clamped his mouth angrily shut, then slowed when he saw the figure leaning against one of the junk cars, waiting. He nudged Trey.

The man in his late forties took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it on the ground. "Where the hell have you two been?"

"We ran into some trouble, Mr. Luciana," Trey replied.

~S/H~

Hutch parked the Torino a few blocks down from an after hours strip joint called the Pink Play Station. As he entered he saw a single dancer doing her pole act on stage to piped music for a dozen or so patrons. Hutch bypassed them all and walked up to the bar and leaned against the counter. He didn't have to wait long before the bartender approached, a heavy scowl appearing on his face.

"Heya, Toulee," Hutch greeted.

The man cocked his head to the side and draped a dish towel over his shoulder, looking less than pleased. "What the hell you doing here?"

Hutch looked around. "See you made a few upgrades. New disco ball?"

"Can it, Hutchinson. What do you want?"

"Information."

The portly bartender slapped the rag on the counter and wiped a wet spot that wasn't there. "I'm not the yellow pages. Take a hike!"

Hutch merely leaned in closer, leveling his eyes on the fatter man. "Is that any way to talk to an old friend?"

"Friend? You must have me mixed up with someone else."

"I'm looking for my partner, you remember him, Detective Starsky?"

The man's dark brows descended. "I'm not likely to forget. You two closed me down for almost four solid months!"

"Well Toulee, that's what you get for hiring underage girls for your little private back stage peep shows."

"Hey, I told you before, I run a legit business! Those chicks had false ID's."

"Sure they did, along with the fake pimples."

The bartender's scowl deepened.

"Look, Toulee, I'll lay it out to you straight. I've got a missing partner who may be hurt and I intend to find him even if I have to shake every branch and poke a stick into every rat hole around here, get it?"

"I haven't seen him, okay!"

"But maybe some of your customers have?"

"How am I supposed to know that?"

Hutch lifted his forefinger, pointing it into the porky man's face, the light blue eyes darkening into icy orbs. "Don't play dumb with me, Toulee, not tonight."

"I swear, I haven't seen or heard shit about Starsky."

"What about two other men. Both white. One wearing an army surplus jacket, the other skinny in coveralls, like a grease monkey?"

"Sorry, no one in an army jacket or a red head in coveralls. Now beat it!"

Hutch's eyes narrowed. "Never mentioned he was a red head, Toulee."

The bartender bit his lip. The big Nordic cop leaned into the bar until his eyes where level with the stupid fat man.

"All right. All right. So maybe they were here earlier tonight. So what?"

"When?"

"I don't know, around eleven."

"Names!"

"I don't remember," Toulee said flippantly.

The fat man was suddenly grabbed by the thin black tie around his neck and jerked forward. Icy steel orbs bore down on him as Hutch held onto the tie which was cutting uncomfortably into the fleshy part of the pudgy man's neck. Not enough to choke or injure, but enough to get the man's attention.

"Names," Hutch repeated, dropping his voice to a softer tone which would have sounded almost conversational, except the glacial piercing eyes which remained fixed on the resistant bartender made the quieter tone much more intimidating.

The bartender couldn't hold the cop's stare and eventually sputtered out two names, "Carter and Llyod, all right!"

Still holding onto the tie, Hutch moved an inch closer into the man's personal space. "What else?"

"Carter works for some chop shop, I don't know where. He used to come in regular when his old lady was working here, but she up and left three weeks ago."

"What's her name?"

"Trixie, a tall leggy black girl. That's all I know, I swear!"

A few seconds later the bartender was released and he immediately took a step back.

"All right, Toulee. I believe you, for now. But if you hear anything about my partner, I better be the first to know, otherwise you know I'll be back and shake this place down so hard even the roaches will permanently scatter."

The porky man scowled but kept his distance. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. I get it."

Hutch scribbled a number on a napkin and slid it over to the bartender who reluctantly took it.

"And Toulee. Don't even think about tearing it up after I leave."

~S/H~

Something wet and rough was licking the side of his face. His glazed eyes opened then widened as he found himself staring into the muzzle of a dog, a really big dog. He jerked into a sitting position and scooted quickly backward until his back was pressed against a low lying wall, raising his forearms protectively out in front of him.

But the dog just stood, licking its lips as it continued to stare at him and a strange sudden thought came to the injured man as to how it had gotten down off the roof.

The dog whined, and then turned and just trotted off.

As soon as it was out of sight, he tried to scramble to his feet but something held him pinned from behind. In a panic he pulled, jerked and twisted his body at whatever was restraining him until something snapped and slipped down and off his left shoulder and then his right.

Once free he got quickly to his feet but swayed dizzily and had to grip the short wall to steady himself.

The cool air against his damp skin made him shiver as he made his way along a path, across some kind of grassy and concrete frontage, through a chain link fence and out onto the empty sidewalk. He stumbled but forced himself to keep moving while his head continued to throb unmercifully. His vision shifted in strange blotchy patches and was intermixed with disjointed images of white walls, corridors, linoleum floors, bright lights and people all dressed in white moving towards him, grabbing him, shoving him, forcing him to comply; followed by laughter and darkness and irresolvable fear. He shook his head, trying to shake the distressing visions away.

Cold and tired, he just wanted to find somewhere safe, somewhere to rest, for a little while. His hand slid along the side of another building until he found an alcove and more or less rolled his body into it. Shaky knees gave out and his legs buckled so that his backside slid down along the wall until his rump hit the cement. With arms wrapped around his bruised ribs, he allowed his body to sag into the corner.

~S/H~

Hutch let the number for the Pits ring twenty times before he tiredly hung up. Huggy obviously wasn't back yet.

He finally decided to stop by the precinct and see about getting some flyers circulated with Starsky's picture to all the local police units in the area. He also wanted to see if there was anything he could dig up out of Vice on the stripper named Trixie. But first he wanted to check if any additional information had trickled in from the local hospitals.

As Hutch entered the building via the back entrance off from the rear parking lot and made his way towards the Night Watch Station located at the front, a suspect was being escorted down the hall by a patrolman.

"Hey, man, I didn't do nothing!"

"Tell it to the judge in the morning, pal," the uniformed officer said.

Hutch walked passed and was just about to push through a set of connective swinging doors when he stopped and turned around. He stared at the familiar looking leather jacket the suspect was wearing, before his eyes dropped to the stain on the left sleeve just as the two rounded the corner out of sight.

In the booking area, the uniformed officer was busy extracting several items out of the suspect's various pockets when Hutch caught up with them. A slim leather bi-fold wallet was placed on top of the stack on the counter.

Hutch grabbed it, startling both the patrolman and his prisoner.

When he opened it Starsky's badge number stared back at him.

Hutch grabbed the man by the flaps of the jacket and forcefully shoved him up against the wire cage until he was practically dangling a few inches off the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" The uniformed officer shouted, stunned.

Hutch ignored him. "Where is my partner you bastard?"

The handcuffed prisoner hung speechlessly in the air.

"Where is he?" Hutch repeated, moving his hand up against the man's neck.

The patrolman, and now the booking officer were at Hutch's side, prying him off the wide-eyed suspect.

"Let him go Hutch!"

The man coward against the wall as the detective was restrained.

"Let me go, damnit!" Hutch bellowed.

"What's going on here?" Another voice demanded as Captain Eaton, the Chief of Detectives, stepped off the elevator.

~S/H~

_There was a white corridor, acoustic tiles on the ceiling flashing by, a cold room and then a pudgy pitted faced man in glasses leaning over him while a stern looking woman in a white cap stood next to him. A bright light was forced in his eyes. He tried to push it away, but his arms were suddenly grabbed, held down on each side._

"_Now, now, Rudy. It's just an exam. Stop resisting or you'll get another shot_."

_Above a blond face watched stoically as he was forced to submit._

Starsky twitched, cringed and drew his knees up closer to his body, huddling deeper in the alcove. His eyelids flickered rapidly as the face disappeared and another voice took its place, this one hidden completely in the dark, speaking in broken English.

"_Little solider boy, think you're so brave? Just wait. Soon you be joining your friend over there."_

He whimpered and in his dreams the stench of death drew ever closer, becoming his only companion as he was once again left in the dark.

~S/H~

Levi Jackson sat nervously in a chair behind a small table while Hutch paced back and forth in the small interrogation room. Captain Eaton stood nearby keeping a close eye on the edgy detective.

"What were you doing, Levi? Stalking him? Waiting until he came out of the Pits alone? Answer me!"

"I ain't saying nothing 'till I get a lawyer. I got that right!" the black man spoke belligerently.

Hutch placed both hands on the table, supporting his body as he leaned in close.

"Yeah, you got that right. Except you better keep in mind that if my partner is hurt out there and something worse happens to him because I'm standing here wasting my time talking to you, you're going to be looking at Murder One on a cop! That's a Capitol Offense, chump!"

"Hey, I didn't do nothing to him!"

Hutch leaned in closer invading the man's personal space. "No? Then explain to me just what the hell you're doing with his jacket, badge and ID?"

Levi racked his hand through his afro, his fingers jittery. He needed a cigarette and reached for the nearly empty pack a few inches away.

Hutch slapped his hand on top of it, making the black man jump in his seat.

"Talk, Levi!"

The sky blue eyes had turned into menacing steel orbs that seemed to go right through him.

Levi swallowed. "All right! All right! But you gotta believe me. I only ripped off his stuff, I didn't do any of that other shit to him."

Hutch inwardly flinched. "What exactly to you mean?"

"I don't know man. He was pretty messed up, okay? Looked like he'd been worked over. He was half out of it when I found him."

Hutch reached over and grabbed the man by his shirt practically dragging him across the table "Where, god damnit!"

"Hutchinson!" The Chief of Detectives barked.

The man tried to pry himself free, but Hutch only tightened his grip.

"Hutchinson. That's enough!"

"Off Third and Willow, man!" Levi finally broke. "But I swear he was alive when I left him."

Ignoring his superior, Hutch held the man tightly, bringing the suspect's face within inches of the icy steel blue eyes. "For your sake, you better damn well hope he's still that way when I find him!" he threatened, before pushing the black man back down in his seat, the momentum nearly toppling him over.

~S/H~

With flashlight in hand, Hutch crossed the small grassy lawn onto the section of concrete pavement which belonged to part of an industrial printing business that sat behind a decorative chain link fence. Passing several concrete planters he followed the walkway until it came to an end and branched off into two smaller paths, one a sloping ramp, apparently used for deliveries, the other leading to a short flight of stairs that went up to the building's main front entrance.

Hutch took the half dozen steps up to the open terrace above in two long strides and quickly scanned the area before moving purposely towards a light source which came from a bare bulb at the far end.

Just passed the lighted terrace a second set of steps led downward, back along a sloping bank and another cement planter which formed a retaining wall. He descended quickly then abruptly stopped for this is where Levi had told him he'd come across Starsky.

Still trying to contain his fury and to get a grip on his emotions after hearing what the scum had done, Hutch desperately fanned the beam of light into the many shadows formed by the terrace and angles of the building hoping to spot a flash of denim, a curly head of hair, or even a blue Adidas sneaker, but there was nothing.

The confirmation that indeed his partner was injured and the visualization of the low-life's dirty filthy hands touching and then stripping Starsky of all his identification and even the damn jacket off his back while he lay hurt and defenseless still made Hutch's blood boil. He had wanted nothing better than to pound the son-of-a-bitch's head into the damn wall of the interrogation room and probably would have done just that if Captain Eaton hadn't been there and cut him off with a strict reprimand. Hutch knew he had probably crossed the line, but he hadn't cared. Nothing had matter at that moment except for finding his partner.

Hutch continued his desperate search calling out to his partner as he rounded the corner onto a short walkway that wrapped back around towards the front of the building. It was then he noticed something odd snared on a water spigot protruding out from the short wall and partially draped across the cement path.

He retrieved it and recognized the object immediately. It was an empty gun holster, for a lefty.

With a surge a renewed hope, he called out to Starsky again as he frantically searched the entire area around the whole building complex but again, in the end, came up empty.

Gripping the holster tightly in his hand, he said aloud, "Come on, Starsk, where the hell are ya, buddy?"

But only silence was his reply and he eventually, reluctantly, he was forced to return to the Torino.

~S/H~

Sudden loud repetitious banging above jerked the injured man awake. The sound was immediately followed by something hard and blunt poking him in the back.

"Wake up! Wake up, you!"

Starsky groaned pitifully.

"Come, on." An angry voice said. "Get up! You hear me! Get up! You can't loiter around here! Go find somewhere else to sleep it off!"

He received another shove in the shoulder.

His hand reached out to ward off any additional blows as he staggered to a standing position, using the wall to help leverage himself up. When he turned slightly his gaze fell onto a man in a uniform standing a few feet away slapping a baton aggressively in his palm. He trembled.

"Hurry up! Get out of here you scum before I rack this thing upside your skull and have you hauled in and locked up!"

The man then gave him one more hard, painful jab, this time to his already tender ribs making him grunt and forcing him to move out of the alcove and onto the sidewalk.

Taking a small flask out of his jacket, the overnight guard watched as the dark haired man staggered down the street out of sight before he took a swig, recapped it, and then hid it back away.

"Damn junkies!" he groused.

~S/H~

Hutch found Huggy in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of strong coffee when he tiredly returned to the Pits. He slid into the back booth, the same one he and Starsky had shared earlier and sat staring into space.

Without a word, Huggy poured a cup of coffee for both of them and then joined him.

"What did you find out, Hug?" Hutch asked hopefully.

"Nothing about Starsky, sorry man."

Hutch's face fell despondently.

"But I did learn something I thought you should know."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Apparently someone's been messing around with the local action of late and the main establishment, Eddie LaRue, ain't taking it too kindly."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Well, according to my sources several of LaRue's booky joints have been rousted up pretty badly of late."

Hutch knew of LaRue. Six years ago he'd been a Louisiana transplant bottom feeder who moved up the ranks and had taken over the numbers scene off his cousin who was currently serving twenty in Quentin. Besides being into numbers, it was also suspected he had expanded his operation into other areas, but neither the locals nor the Feds had been able to solidly tag him anything, mainly because LaRue was mean as hell and didn't trust anybody.

"A shake down?"

Huggy nodded. "It has that definite flavor to it. And that ain't all. This time, whoever hit his last joint wasn't just interested in wrecking the place up, they scored seventy G's of LaRue's money _and_ a couple kilo's of coke."

"Coke? LaRue's really branching out."

Huggy nodded.

"Anyone know who's behind it?"

"Gossip is swinging in the general direction one of LaRue's rivals trying to wedge into his territory, most likely Pinky Lamar. He's been after LaRue's stake for couple of years now. But one of my other private, though admittedly not always very accurate sources, thinks an independent party may also be involved."

"How do you mean?"

"Pinky wants to put LaRue out of business. These guys were definitely in it for the money. Whatever be the case, my man, it's been making the streets pretty edgy of late, especially since LaRue has put out his own set of local heavies looking for some answers."

"Swell."

"I doubt this has anything to do with what happened to Curly, but I thought you should know."

Hutch agreed.

Though he knew of LaRue, neither he nor Starsky had been much involved in his case, but the idea that LaRue was out shaking the streets up looking for blood was unsettling and only increased his worry and his anxiety to find his missing partner as quickly as possible.

"Hey, man, don't give up. I've put plenty of feelers out. It just may take a little time for things to turn up."

Hutch nodded.

Huggy then inquired about the empty holster Hutch had clutched tightly in his hand. With an icy edge of anger returning to the blue eyes, Hutch filled him in, his knuckles turning white as he got to the part about Levi mugging his already injured partner, then leaving him.

Though appalled and angered too, Huggy was not that surprised. There was little compassion left on the streets, especially when it came to cops.

"Hey, man, as bad as that sounds, at least you know he's still in the area, right? And you were able to track him down that far. If anyone can find Curly, it's the Big Blond Bloodhound sitting across from me, dig?"

Hutch couldn't help but grin a little at that before the worried lines returned to his forehead. Even though both detectives knew the risks that came with the job and had accepted it long ago, it still never came easy nor lessened the anxiety each always felt when the other was in danger.

Not just his partner and his best friend, Starsky was his better half, the only one Hutch had ever truly felt comfortable with, connected to and completely accepted by. His whole life before Starsky had always been about fitting someone else's mold of who he was supposed to be: his parents, his ex-wife and even most of his friends in college. But Starsky had never done that. If fact he had done just the opposite. He had helped Hutch discover who he really was and then just had accepted him, sarcasm, fussy health habits, dirty socks and all.

And right now, knowing his partner was out there somewhere hurt and alone was tearing him up inside.

Hutch scraped his hands across his tired, throbbing eyes sockets. _Babe, you __seriousl__y gotta stop doing this me._

Huggy got up from the booth and returned a moment later placing a bottle of aspirin in front of him. "Here. I think you can use these."

Hutch's mouth lifted up into a little smile. "Thanks, Hug." He downed a couple of pills with a few sips of coffee.

"You should eat something, Blondie. It's not good to take those things on an empty stomach. The grill's cold, but I can fix you up with a sandwich."

Hutch shook his head. "Thanks, Huggy, but I'm not hungry."

"You need to keep your strength up, my friend."

"Maybe later, Hug. I just can't eat anything right now."

"Sure, man, okay."

Huggy sat back down. "So what about the hospitals? Maybe something's turned up by now?

"I already checked before coming here. Still nothing," Hutch replied dejectedly.

"Hey, something's gonna turn soon, Hutch, just have a little faith."

But Hutch could not be so easily pacified, his worry over his partner only increasing as the hours went by.

Hutch then asked Huggy if he knew anything of the black leggy stripper named Trixie, associated with his the two drunks who'd been in the bar earlier, still wondering if they had anything to do with the initial attack on his partner. Huggy shook his head, but also said it shouldn't be that hard to find out and would make some calls.

The phone rang at the bar. Huggy slid out of the booth and quickly crossed the space to answer it. "Yeah, yeah. Okay thanks."

"Hutch. That was Shoe-Shine. Says he thinks he may have spotted Curly down by the newspaper stand."

Hope surged and Hutch was up and out of the booth in an instant.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

(Thanks brook5 for the encouraging emails. It's really helped me to stay focused and keep plugging away at this thing. And thanks everyone for the positive feedback - hopefully the story reads kinda like an eppy. Enjoy.)

**Chapter Seven**

Less than ten minutes after dashing out of the Pits, Hutch pulled the Torino up in front of the combination newspaper and shoe shine stand. A thin, bald-headed, elderly black man looked up from unbundling a stack of the morning edition from the corded bindings, the process a bit hampered by slightly arthritic fingers.

Hutch climbed out of the Torino and slammed the door. "Hey, Shoe-Shine."

The man greeted the cop with a courteous though a bit of a surprised smile. "My dime didn't even get cold, my man."

"Huggy told me you've seen Detective Starsky."

"Well. I'm not sure, Hutch. Damn eyesight ain't so good anymore because of the cataracts, you know, but I _think_ it was him."

"When, Shoe-Shine? Please."

"Just a little while ago, but he looked different."

"How do you mean?"

"Like he had one hell of a night. Was kinda in a daze too, just sorta staring at my stand. When I started walking over to him to ask if he was all right, he just turned the other way and left."

"Which way did he go?"

"Down Kingston, towards Grant."

Hutch dug into his pocket and pressed several bills into the old man's hand and clasped the arthritic fingers between his larger, stronger ones gently. "Thanks, Shoe-Shine!"

"Hope you find him, Hutch."

The cop nodded in gratitude and quickly departed. Shoe-Shoe went back to the task of unbinding the stack of newspapers, not paying much attention to the headline in bold faced lettering on the top.

~S/H~

Hutch drove the Torino slowly up the street scanning the blocks. In the early morning hour a grey tinge of overcastted light had now replaced the dark. Traffic was beginning to pick up as commuters moved into the city, but most of streets in this particular section of town remained practically empty of foot traffic.

Hutch had maybe driven six blocks when he thought he saw a flash of a blue shirt and a dark head of curls just as the Torino passed through the intersection.

"Shit!"

He slammed on the brakes and swung the Torino around. The front suspension hit and then went up and over a concrete divider separating the lanes of opposing traffic.

Hutch winced. _Starsky's gonna kill me for that!_

By the time he'd completed the U-turn and reached the intersection though, the light had just turned from yellow to red. Hutch floored the gas pedal and the Torino surged forward just as the cross traffic entered the intersection. He swerved the car to avoid a collision with a truck, receiving a blare of a horn in return. Ignoring it, he fixed his eyes on the street, frantically searching for a glimpse of the man again. Not a second later however, a siren startled him and to his disbelief saw a black and white unit with its mars bar flashing in his rearview mirror.

With a curse he was forced to pull the Torino over.

The cruiser had hardly come to a full stop behind him before Hutch was flinging the door open and climbing out.

"Hold it right there, mister!" the officer firmly demanded, his left arm stretched forward, his right on the holstered weapon on his hip.

Hutch stood up to his full height. "Look, officer I'm a…" but he was cut off.

"I said HOLD IT!" The officer repeated and was now joined by his younger partner who had drawn his gun.

Livid, Hutch held his hands clearly where they could see him. "I'm a fucking cop for Christ sakes!"

The uniformed officer approached cautiously, clearly disbelieving him.

"Look, I'm Sergeant Hutchinson, with the Ninth. My ID's in my shirt pocket if you'll just let me get it out," he said impatiently.

"Slowly."

With his right hand, Hutch reached into his front pocket and pulled out his ID with two fingers, flipping it open and extending it out.

The officer took it and a moment later directed his partner to lower his weapon.

"Sorry, Sergeant," the uniformed officer said curtly, handing Hutch back his ID. "But maybe next time you decide to fly through a red light, maybe you better put your siren and lights on."

Hutch shoved his ID back in his pocket. He was just about to make an angry retort when he spotted the man again, this time across the street in a used car lot. From the height, stance and the wild curly head of hair, Hutch knew at once it was his partner.

~S/H~

In a dazed stupor the man walked, his mind a swirl of thoughts, images and a newspaper headline: "MENTAL PATIENT ESCAPES CABRILLO."

Voices echoed in Starsky's head.

"_All right Rudy, back to your own section!" _

_Rudy?_ The name had a familiar ring to it, yet the flashing images connected with it were disturbing, frightening as he tried to make sense of them.

_A white capped red-headed nurse suddenly appeared. "Trying to escape us again, Mr. Skyler?"_

"_No, I was only talking to…" His shoulder was painfully grabbed in a meaty fist, the fingers pressing hard, digging into the sensitive flesh._

"_That will be enough, Mr. Switek!" the nurse snapped sternly. She then looked at him with an air of utter exasperation. "You know the rules Mr. Sklyer. Let's not break them again for the second time in one day, hmm?" Her mouth then pinched up, her face hardened. "It's time for your therapy session, Rudy."_

_She addressed the intern beside him. "Mr. Switek, see to it Mr. Skyler gets there __this__ time." _

_A blond haired man in tinted wire glasses appeared. "I can do that, Nurse Bycroft."_

"_Never you mind, Mr. Hansen. I have other duties for you, follow me." The blond haired man nodded. The nurse turned abruptly on her heels and the intern followed her out the door and down the corridor._

_He watched the man go before his arm was jerked painfully. "Come on Skyler. You heard the lady. Let's go!"_

_He resisted and his arm was twisted behind his back as a fist grabbed a sizeable chunk of hair at the back of his head. "Listen you prick. I'm not going to ask you twice. Do as you're told or face the consequences later!"_

The screech of brakes brought him out of the flashback as a car nearly collided into him. He jumped back, and then stumbled across the street. Once on the sidewalk, he wandered through a used car lot sandwiched between a strip mall and the back side of a brick building.

Then two things happened almost instantaneously. The first was he heard a shout and looked up to see a blond haired man calling out from across the street next to a police car. The second was two men suddenly appeared out of a doorway from the building just to his right.

And in that moment what Starsky saw were three men all dressed in white moving towards him. And suddenly the face of the blond haired man running across the street shouting came into view. A shiver of fear struck him as he recognized the man as the intern Hansen from the mental institute. He froze for a second, almost paralyzed, and then took a staggering step backward. Pain jabbed at the back of his head and his vision blurred momentarily. When he looked to his right at the other two men, one white, one black, stepping forward, in his mind's eyes he saw them as Switek and Jackson.

One raised a straight jacket out in front of him. "_Did you really think you could escape us Rudy?"_

Terror filled his eyes. The three were the interns from Cabrillo and they had been sent to capture him, to bring him back!

~S/H~

As Hutch started across the street he immediately sensed something was terribly wrong.

His partner's appearance was disheveled, his shirt, face and arms filthy. Starsky then staggered back, put his hand to the back of his neck and stood frozen as he frantically looked from Hutch to the two men, bakers from the shop next door to the car lot, who had just stepped out the back door of the building.

Starsky's eyes suddenly widened.

One of the bakers, holding a light jacket in his hand stepped closer and raised his hand out towards him. "Hey mister, you okay?"

Starsky took a step back.

Hutch shouted his name but as he drew closer, the frightened look in Starsky's eyes turned to terror and he suddenly turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Hutch took off after him.

By the time he'd weaved through the used cars in the lot, Starsky had already disappeared around the back of the building. He followed shouting Starsky's name, not understanding what was wrong, but instantly scared.

Starsky stumbled and Hutch quickly closed the distance. As he caught up with him and grabbed his partner by the forearm, concern cracked his voice. "Buddy, w-hat's wrong?"

He got no further as Starsky whipped around and before he knew what hit him, the full force of a fist cracked against his face sending a surprised Hutch reeling backwards onto the ground.

For a second he laid on his back dazed before he shook his head and struggled back up to his feet. By then Starsky had scrambled up the back of a car and awkwardly scaled a cinder block wall.

Holding his face Hutch followed, leaping onto the car and over the wall. He looked right, then left just in time to see a flash of a blue shirt and a curly head of hair crashing into a chain link fence as he rounded a corner.

He took off after him, his longer strides soon closing the distance again. He reached the end of the block in time to see his partner crossing the street, stumbling and ducking between two tenement buildings. Hutch followed and nearly got hit by a moving car. He tripped on his own feet in his haste and nearly fell, but managed to keep himself upright.

The passage between the two buildings was narrow, only about six feet wide. Ahead Starsky had come to a stop, was bent over holding onto a rusty abandoned shopping cart, panting and looked ready to fall over any second. But the moment he heard Hutch's footsteps his head snapped up and with a panicked look pushed himself off and started running again.

For a few seconds the distance appeared to widen and Hutch was desperately afraid he'd loose sight of Starsky as he became a silhouette of movement in the shadows between the buildings.

"Starsky, for God sake's stop running! Please, buddy, it's me Hutch!" he shouted.

For a second he thought he saw his partner slow down almost turn but then instead he tipped over a metal trash can and took off again.

In the shadows Hutch tried to avoid the debris, but tripped on something and this time he did go down. He landed awkwardly and pain immediately shot up through his knee. He inwardly hissed as he pulled himself back up and nearly hit the ground again as he tried to put his full weight on it.

Ahead Starsky had slowed again, seemed to be staggering, disoriented, holding his head. He crashed into a trash can, almost fell over himself but at the last second twisted his body so he rolled with the momentum and hit the wall instead. He then disappeared into the shadows.

By the time Hutch reached the point where Starsky had been, he found a narrow service passage between the two brick buildings. He ran down its length in a half run, half painful hobble until it dumped him out into another alley. He looked left, then right, but couldn't see his partner anywhere.

"Starsky!" he shouted. "Starsk!"

Hutch took off to the left, passing a dumpster when a noise from behind caught his attention and quickly reversed his direction. But when he reached the end of the alley which opened up onto a main street, his partner was no where to be found.

~S/H~

Panting heavily, with his pounding heartbeat only adding to the pounding pain already in his head, the exhausted, confused and frightened man pressed his body further back into the shadowed space between the dumpster and the side of the building as the intern's footsteps quickly drew nearer, then suddenly stopped and reversed direction before fading away.

Starsky remained frozen until he was sure the intern was gone before he dared to venture from his hiding place. Using the side of the building for support, he took off in the opposite direction, stealing nervous glances behind him.

Only after a few short blocks though, his stamina began to wane and sheer exhaustion set in as the rush of adrenalin that had been trigger by his fear became depleted. His legs started shaking severely and when a wave of dizziness hit him, he could no longer fight it. He felt himself pitching forward, crashing into a set of wooden crates stack beneath a stairwell. But they were all empty, and as he fell they toppled over on top of him.

~S/H~

"Why would Curly run away from you?" Huggy asked.

Hutch leaned against the inside of the phone booth, his arm outstretched and pressed against the glass panel, the receiver wedged between his shoulder and check. He shifted his weight and winced from the pain in his knee.

"I don't know, Hug," Hutch replied. "He's confused and he's hurt. I saw him gripping the back of his head before he took off running. I think whoever attacked him in the alley must have hit him in the head with that pipe. But there was something else." He paused, struggling to get a grip on his emotions. "He was a-fraid, al-most terrified of _me_."

The last sentence came out as a stutter, which didn't go unnoticed by the man on the other end of the line.

"Why would Starsky be afraid of you?"

"I d-don't know. But when I grabbed him, he turned around and belted me solid."

Hutch messaged his bruised cheek. He'd totally forgotten just what a powerful compact punch his partner was capable of producing. Starsky had only ever hit him once before but it had been part of an undercover act, and not at full force, but it had still been hard enough to send Hutch sailing across the bar. This one Starsky had put his full weight into, driven by fear.

"Whatever's going on inside his head, Huggy, it's making him run, making him want to hide. God the look on his face! He was so scared."

"Take it easy, bro. You gotta stay calm."

Hutch leaned his head against his outstretched arm and closed his eyes.

"I know. I know."

Hutch had dealt with a hurt Starsky plenty of times and even a confused Starsky on occasion, but _never_ a Starsky actually _afraid_ of him. It went against all his instincts he knew about his partner. It was almost as if Starsky were seeing him as _someone else_.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The Chief of Detectives stormed into Captain Dobey's office.

"I plan to file a formal complaint with I.A. on your man Hutchinson!" He told Dobey. "He was completely out of line last night with that suspect, practically assaulted him right in front of me!"

Dobey regarded the stern man who was currently acting as the interim Chief of Detectives while their regular one, Captain Ryan, was out on prolonged disability. He knew Eaton's personally, they had gone back a long way. He was a good cop but very different in both style and personality from Ryan who was much more familiar with the workings of the Ninth Precinct and the personalities of its seasoned detectives who worked the inner city.

The fifty-two year old man was strictly old school and by the book. And it was also a well known fact the man held little respect for the new "breed" of cop that dressed, talked, and dealt with the criminal and social elements in a far different manner than when he or Dobey had worked the streets.

This breed of men did not separate themselves from the streets in clear dividing lines but submerged themselves into them instead in a push and pull balance that required tough ass grit one minute, compassion and understanding the next, and a damn good partner to back them up. But it was that very combination that made it all work and got results when others failed.

And as far as Dobey was concerned, Starsky and Hutchinson were his best team. But more than that, the captain also understood the closeness the two partners shared, and in the end, they were not so different.

Dobey listened to the tirade over lack of discipline and respect and complete disregard for procedure before he stood up to his full height and defended his man. "Hutchinson may have reacted rashly, I'll agree, but _damnit_, Mike, that's _his_ _partner_ and _one of_ _my_ _own_ _men_ out there that scum left for dead!"

"He was out of line!"

"You and I both know I would have done the same damn thing if it had been Elmo."

Eaton stopped his tirade at the mention of Dobey's former partner. A decorated cop, Elmo Jackson had been killed years ago when both men had worked the streets. His murder, even after all these years, still left a big hole behind in the black man's heart, a hole that had eventually forced Dobey off the streets and behind a desk.

Dobey lowered his voice and tried to make Eaton understand. "Starsky and Hutchinson are close, Mike, like Elmo and I used to be, probably even closer."

"That may be so, but it's no excuse for breaching regulations. The man's too hot headed and I can see now what Ryan was talking about."

Dobey grinned. "Actually I think Captain Ryan was referring to Starsky. Hutchinson is the calmer one of the pair. Unless, of course, it involves a matter of his partner's safety and well being. Not so unlike how Elmo and I used to be, if you remember rightly."

The older man's stern features loosened just a bit. "I remember." He then grunted. "All right Dobey, I'll let it go with a verbal warning _this_ time. But keep your man in line!"

Dobey nodded.

Hutch was just returning to the squad room as Dobey escorted Captain Eaton out of his office.

The two men came to a face to face standoff.

In a stern tone, Eaton spoke. "Due to the stressful circumstances surrounding your partner's disappearance, Detective Hutchinson, I have decided to give you only a verbal warning _this_ time for your conduct. See to it, it doesn't happen again though."

Dobey saw the cold, icy, glittering edge in the detective's eyes and as Hutch opened his mouth with what Dobey was sure to be a heated retort, he intercepted it with a stern bellow. "Hutchinson!"

Seeing the tight, fierce, authoritative look on Dobey's face, Hutch clamped his mouth shut.

Eaton looked down at the younger man. "Detective Hutchinson, as long as I am at this precinct acting as Chief of Detectives you _will_ tow the line on proper interrogations procedures or next time it will become a formal matter for Internal Affairs, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

With a curt nod, Eaton departed.

Several sets of eyes in the squad had been listening to the verbal down dressing. Dobey's brow descended "All right, show's over! You men get back to work! Hutchinson, in my office!"

He turned on his heels.

Hutch followed. In a stern voice Dobey ordered the detective to close the door and sit down.

"But..."

"Sit down!" Dobey repeated.

Hutch slumped angrily down into a chair, wincing.

Dobey looked at Hutch. "You need to go get that knee checked."

"It's fine. It's just a bruise."

Dobey grunted. He then went around to his desk and eased his own extremely large frame into the chair, sighing deeply. "Look, Hutch, I'm as worried about Starsky as you are, but you gotta be calm about this."

His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Calm! Calm! He's _hurt_ out there Cap!" Hutch's voice nearly broke.

"And loosing your temper isn't going to help find him any faster either. Eaton's a good cop but he's black and white, strictly by the book. Don't push the envelope with him again."

"He's an ass! He's been off the streets so long he probably would get lost going to the grocery store."

Dobey raised his brow in surprise. The off-the-cuff comment was something Dobey would have easily expected to hear out of the mouth of the hot-tempered brunet on a _good _day, but seldom from Hutch and it was a gauge to Dobey as to just how much Starsky's obvious injuries and his current plight was affecting his partner.

Dobey's compassion went out to the man. "We'll find him, Hutch. We'll find him."

~#~

The faired haired detective slumped a little deeper in the chair, his entire demeanor showing his frustration, tiredness and worry. The image of Starsky's rumpled, grimy appearance, clearly hurt, and running _away_ from him had shaken him.

After he'd lost Starsky in the back alleys of the tenement buildings, Hutch had spent several more hours searching the area and talking to whoever he came across, but again he'd come up empty and by mid-morning, with little else to go on, he reluctantly returned to the precinct.

He could feel Dobey's eyes on him. "Go home, Hutch and put your knee up, get some rest. As soon as anything more comes in we'll get a hold of you."

Hutch shook his head.

"I can't, Cap. Not until I find him."

The phone rang on the desk. Dobey snatched it up. He listened for a moment. "Hang on. He's right here."

Hutch's head came up as he was handed the receiver. "It's forensics."

The detective listened for a few minutes to the preliminary report from the lab on the evidence gathered in the alley. The blood type found on the ground and also on the pipe only confirmed what Hutch already knew. It was the same type as his partner's. The lab had also been able to lift several good prints off the pipe and had already sent them out to be processed and run against what they had in their computers.

"Thanks, Margie," Hutch said.

After hanging up, Hutch limped back to the squad room and sat down at his desk, staring at the empty chair directly across from him.

A few minutes later, Minnie came in, setting several folders down next to him. "Hey, Hutch. Here's those files on Edward LaRue you requested."

"Thanks, Minnie."

With an injured partner out on the streets and after what Huggy had told him, Hutch thought it prudent to learn more about Eddie LaRue and his dealings so on his way back into the precinct, he'd radioed R&I requesting the files to be pulled. If nothing else, it gave Hutch something to do while he was forced to wait for any additional leads.

Hutch pulled the first file off the stack and opened it, drawing himself inward, trying to stoically mask his emotions.

He could feel Minnie watching him.

"You want some coffee, Hutch?" she asked. "Just brewed a fresh pot."

He shrugged.

Taking that as a yes, Minnie went over and poured a cup, automatically adding cream and sugar. When she set it down next to him, Hutch stared at the tan color. It was how Starsky usually drank it. Hutch preferred his black but had just gotten used to drinking it that way at the precinct because they often, without even thinking about it, shared the same cup. He didn't bother to correct Minnie.

Despite his best intentions, Minnie could easily read the worry still on his face. She sat down next to him and then reached over and covered his hand with hers.

Hutch looked up.

The touch was gentle, comforting and to his surprise, Hutch realized just how much he had truly needed it at that moment.

Over the years touch had always been an intrinsic element in his partnership with Starsky. Growing up, Hutch had never really been raised with physical demonstrations of affection in the stern aseptic environment of the Hutchinson household. But that had dramatically changed the day he'd met his warm, energetic friend.

Hutch had learned early on touch was how Starsky silently communicated those emotions he could never put easily into words as much as it was his expression of solidarity and loyalty to him. A soft touch on the shoulder, a squeeze of a hand on an arm to guide or comfort, or just leaning shoulder to shoulder when talking were as common an occurrence between the two partners as legs across laps or feet propped up on the other's shoulders during cramped stakeouts, or the slaps on the back, jabs in the ribs, and thunks upside the head.

Hutch never exactly knew when that reserved, stand-off part of his nature had changed to one more comfortable with physical expression, but more than that in realizing just how much he had actually _needed_ and _craved_ it too.

In was in the accepting of it from others that Hutch still had difficulty with at times. _Except_ when it came from Starsky. From his partner it had become second nature, an extension of the bond they shared, and right now he was acutely aware of its absence.

Minnie, seeming to read his thoughts, gave his hand a little squeeze in assurance. "Hey. It's going to turn out all right. You're going to find him. Don't worry. And all of us here are going to help."

"Thanks, Minnie."

"Sure, sugar. Now tell me what I can do."

He looked up. "You just did."

Minnie smiled, the admittance not lost on her. She squeezed his hand again and winked before standing up. "Whatever you need, just give me a buzz."

Hutch nodded as she left.

He studied the files. There wasn't much additional information in them that he didn't know already about LaRue beyond the fact he'd managed to weasel out of several indictments in the last year either from lack of sufficient evidence or a nice loop hole in the system much to the annoyance of the D.A.

After an hour or so, Hutch tiredly shut the files and got up, stretching his aching back and protesting muscles. He cringed again at the twinge of pain in his knee. Stiffly he left the squad room for a much needed bathroom break, and then headed down to the second floor.

Still trying to figure out who had attacked his partner in the first place, Hutch hadn't eliminated the two drunks in the bar and wanted to ask anyone down in Vice if they knew of the black stripper named Trixie. Unfortunately neither Jenkins nor his partner Barilla, the only two present in Vice's squad room, had heard of her, but then again, strippers were a dime a dozen. They did promise to check with some of the other detectives and get back to him.

When Hutch returned to his own squad room, to his surprise, he found Detective Marcello sitting in his chair.

Hutch went over and shook hands, hope making his heart skip a beat.

"I was in the area and thought I would stop in and see if anything's turned up on your partner," Marcello said.

Hutch's face fell. "Oh. Sorry. I thought maybe you were here with some news for _me_."

"Sorry, detective. Truly wish that were the case. I've been pretty busy with trying to figure out who my stiff was in the park. Finally was able to ID him."

"Oh? So who is he?"

"A two bit ex-con by the name of Tommy Maas. Name ring any bells?" Hutch shook his head. "Still don't know who stiffed him, but I guess it isn't any big social loss either. But I might have a lead."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you remember I told you I had just come from a homicide of a hooker at the Stardust?"

"Yeah."

"Well, according to Maas' parole officer, his last known address was the Stardust."

"That does seem pretty co-incidental."

"Yeah," the detective replied. His glanced settled on Hutch. "Look. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Detective, but are you _sure_ you and your partner weren't on some kind of undercover assignment or private party down there last night?"

Hutch's eyes suddenly narrowed. "No. I already told you. We were off duty just having dinner. Why do you ask?"

Marcello shrugged. "No reason, I guess, other than the fact The Pits seems like an odd place for two cops to be having dinner and your partner's still missing."

Hutch stood up to his full height. "It's owned by a friend of ours. What exactly are you getting at?"

"Nothing," Marcello said hastily. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply anything. It's just that if you were, but you're not at liberty to say for one reason or another, I just like to know so I'm not stepping on any sensitive toes, that's all." Marcello sighed then looked at his watch. "I gotta run, Hutchinson. But I promise to still keep my eyes and ears open about your partner while I'm following up on leads about Maas."

"Sure. Thanks."

Marcello nodded and left.

Hutch sat back down. It was then he noticed something funny. The file on Eddie LaRue was lying open. He could have sworn he'd shut it before leaving his desk. And then a second thought occurred to him. He had never told Marcello specifically he and Starsky had been at the Pits, only that he and Starsky had dinner at a friend's bar. Hutch stared at the files then back at the closed door.

Dobey wandered out of his office. "Cap. Do you know if there are currently any undercovers or Feds working on the LaRue case?"

"LaRue? Eddie LaRue?"

Hutch nodded.

He shook his head. "But I can find out, why?"

"I'm not sure."

TBC...

(again, thanks for all the wonderful feedback and support)


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The girl wobbled a little unsteadily as she took another sip from the small glass bottle held in her hand. When she reached the end of the narrow side street she stopped and dug out the key from a small, ratty hand purse to the tiny one room back alley dump she called home. It was then a sudden noise coming from a pile of wooden crates under a stairwell startled her. She dropped the key and it clinked out of sight.

"Shit!"

She stared at the crates, then jumped back when two large rats scampered out of the shadows and ran down the side of the building.

Squatting down and hoping there weren't anymore, she nervously felt around for the key until she finally found it. It was then the noise came again, this time louder, and to her fright, one of the crates was pushed aside exposing a leg, an arm, a hand reaching towards her.

She jumped back up against the door, the small glass bottle slipping out of her hand and shattering on the ground.

"Stay back! Get away!"

In a panic she saw another crate move, revealing a dark head of hair.

"Get out of here, you hear me! I've got mace and I swear I'll use it if you come any closer!" she screamed, scrambling to fit the key into the lock.

Finally she got the door open and practically fell inside, slamming it shut. Shaky fingers threw the lock then reached up and slipped the chain lock in place as well.

With her heart racing she backed away from the door to the far side of the tiny room until she bumped into the small counter. Opening the drawer beneath, her fingers frantically rooted around until they closed over a serrated steak knife she kept for protection. Holding it in a two fisted grip in front of her chest, she stared at the door, eyes wide, frightened, knowing the battered door and flimsy locks were no real protection for someone determined to get in.

When no pounding or the crack of splintering wood followed after several minutes though, she put trembling fingers to her lips and cautiously crossed the room to press her ear to the door.

Still nothing.

Keeping the chain lock in place, she slowly opened it just a crack.

In the dark space underneath the stairs she heard a moan, followed by a soft incoherent mumble.

She quickly slammed the door shut again. She stood behind it for a full five minutes gnawing her lower lip, shaking and uncertain of what she should do next. Finally she opened it a crack once again, and a few seconds later heard a tiny shuffle of movement and another moan that drew her brow down in concern.

Working up her courage, she slid the door closed enough to shakily slip the chain lock off. When she opened it and nothing sprung out at her from the shadows, she cautiously ventured outside, the knife still in her hand. She could make out a sneaker, a leg in the shadowed light of the stairwell. As she drew nearer she saw the outline of a man lying prone among the crates.

The painful moan came again, and this time she could see the fingers of his left hand twitching and weakly trying to reach out for something.

Her voice cracked. "H-hey…You okay?"

The hand retracted back as if startled. A few seconds later the man struggled to bring his knees up underneath him and raise himself up, dragging his forearm up on top of the small wooden crates for support while the other stayed wrapped around his waist. But when he tried to push himself into a standing position, he let out a painful grunt and suddenly toppled over, rolling out from underneath the stairwell and onto his back, his right arm flung out to the side, his head flopping over onto his cheek.

He lay still, unmoving.

Hesitantly she came to his side and knelt down, gnawing nervously on her thumbnail. The man's breathing was labored and dirt covered the whole left side of his face and neck. Timidly she reached out and placed her hand on his chest. He flinched and shrank back before letting out another groan.

"Hey…It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She wasn't sure but she thought his eyes opened just a little for a second.

Leaning over, she touched the side of his face and he jerked, moving his head away from her hand and grimaced. She scrambled a little ways back, suddenly scared.

His right hand lifted off the ground, reached out, before falling weakly back.

"Hur'tch," he mumbled.

The simply act was so pitiful, so needy, his voice filled with such tired pain, that it overcame her natural fears of strangers and she returned to his side.

"Hey. It's okay."

When she touched his chest again, this time he didn't startle.

She bit her lip, indecisive as to what to do. The man was obviously hurt, needed help, but did she really want to get involved?

Then to her surprise he reached up and grabbed her hand, not in a painful way, in a way meant to hurt and abuse as she was used to, but rather to seek an almost childlike comfort in. It tugged at her heart and her fear melted.

"Hey mister…can…can you help me? Help me to get you up? I can take you inside, okay?"

For a moment she didn't think he was coherent enough to understand, but then he nodded and to her surprise he struggled to roll over on his side.

What followed next was several minutes of a joined effort to get the injured man upright and into her little room, more or less falling onto the small narrow unmade bed with the young woman collapsing on top of him.

She untangled herself from his arms, got up and quickly shut and locked the door before returning to his side. The man's breathing was still labored from the effort of moving. The dark wild curls framing his face were stuck and matted to his skin. His lip was split open and his face was covered in black streaks of sweat and grime.

For several moments she just stared at him until his face screwed up and he turned his head to the side. It was then she saw the streak of blood mixed with dirt down the back of his neck just behind his left ear.

Retrieving a faded washcloth and filling a plastic bowl with water from the squeaking rusty tap, she attempted to clean his face. As she touched the side of his head with the wet rag though, he winced and pulled back.

"'S'urts."

"I'm sorry."

Her hand shook and she nervously looked away. But when she glanced back, she saw that his eyelids were half open and he was staring at her with dark glazed orbs filled with pain and confusion.

"I'm sorry didn't mean to hurt you. I...I was just trying to help."

Suddenly his body started to shake violently.

"Hey! Hey! It's okay."

She tugged and pulled at a wadded up blanket trapped under his legs until it came free, but as soon as she tried to tuck it around him, his eyes widened in sudden fear. He fought her for a moment before he gave a twisted moan and suddenly went limp.

She covered her mouth, suddenly scared. _Oh God._ _Was he dead?_

A moment later relief washed over her as she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest and realized that he had just passed out.

She removed the rest of the dirt and blood from the back of his neck and face as best as she could, being careful around the cuts and bruises. She also noticed several scratches and puncture marks on his arms and remembered the rats outside her door. She shuddered.

When she was done she just sat for a while staring at him.

In his unconscious state the man had such a boyish vulnerable look beneath the otherwise rugged features. The dark fan of lashes rested against his pale skin, while damp curls fell across his forehead and framed his cheeks. She reached out, hesitantly at first, then shyly ran her fingers curiously through one soft cluster of curls and smiled when his face seemed to relax a little under her touch. But when his features pinched up a few seconds later, she retracted her hand swiftly, a flush of guilty shyness evading her cheeks.

She wondered who he was, where he had come from, but after nervously patting him down, she couldn't find anything on him, not even a wallet.

Reluctantly she backed away to an armchair, curling her legs up and wrapping her arms about her bent knees, not really knowing what else to do and wondering just what the hell she had gotten herself into.

~S/H~

_The prick of a needle pulled him briefly from the dark haze he was wallowing in._

_His eyes opened into tiny slits._

"_Just a little more blood, Rudy."_

_He could feel hands on his arm. He tried to pull back, but his limbs felt like lead weights. Glassy, drugged eyes stared down at his arm while the figured hovered over him. Memories resurfaced._

_No..No…please…not again…he tried to say but his mouth couldn't seem to form the words as a familiar panic rose within him._

_Then the fat, obese face came into view. Small beady eyes behind thick glasses glittered. "I've been watching you, Skyler. Reading your files. Rape, aggravated assault, in and out of mental facilities all your life…A very troubled, disturbed young man, indeed. You'll be a perfect addition to my research."_

_His eyes widened, yet still he was unable to move._

_The strange, surreal laughter echoed around him as Matwick finished his task, and then leaned back over him. Fat jowls ballooned out as he smiled, pleased, excited. "__This__ time I know it will work" _

_He shuddered as the darkness pulled him back down. _

~S/H~

It took several minutes before he realized that he was awake and a few more to realize he wasn't lying in a locked room with linoleum floors but lying in a small, narrow bed butted up against a wall. His eyes quickly darted across the small space searching until they settled, to his surprise, on a woman curled up in an armchair staring back at him. He shrank back against the thin mattress confused.

Her smile, when it came, seemed nervous, forced when she finally spoke. "Hey. Y-you're finally awake."

When he didn't make a reply but continued to stare, she frowned and stood up, moving a little away from him, her manner skittish, but he was too weak, too tired to process the reason why.

His throat felt parched.

"Thirsty," he mumbled.

He heard the sound of a squeaky tap, water running, and then a moment later a small glass appeared. He tried to lift his head, take it from her, but to his surprise his hands shook, spilling the water. A hand slipped under his neck, another steadied the glass, pressing it to his dry lips.

He took a drink. The water had a heavy metallic rusty taste to it, but it nevertheless felt good against his parched throat. He took several more sips, coughed suddenly, and then pushed it away.

He sank weakly back. "Thanks."

The girl nervously smiled. "Sure, mister."

She continued to hold the glass, her fingers twitching, almost as if she weren't sure of what to do next. She wiped her palms on her skirt and finally set the glass back on the small counter.

He stared at her. In a thick raspy voice, he asked. "Who are you?"

She tugged, fidgeted with the straps to her halter top. "My name's Tracee."

"How…" he started, but closed his eyes suddenly as his head throbbed, realizing he had _one mother of a headache_.

"I…I found you a couple hours ago. You were passed out next to my door. Don't you remember?"

He stared back numbly.

"Oh…um…well, I guess that's not so surprising. You…you got a pretty good lump on the back of your head."

_He did?_ He reached up, touched the back of his head behind his ear and winced.

"You should probably have that checked. I know a guy that runs a free clinic down here. I could take you…"

"No!" His sudden firm refusal startled her. He didn't know why, but the idea of doctors, hospitals were frightening to him.

She moved away and returned a few moments later holding several vials of pills, her hands nervously twitching. "May-be one of these will help then. I've got uppers, downers, um…even penicillin?" She laughed a little embarrassed. "A friend of mine gets them for me, you know, for a few favors."

He shook his head.

"Yeah. Okay." A long pause followed as he remained silent. "Um…you gotta name? I mean I hate to have'ta keep calling you mister."

The question made him frown deeply. Of course he had name. What kind of question was that?

And then his eyes widened and panic washed over him when he realized he couldn't remember, couldn't remember anything.

Then just as suddenly, a surge of memories flooded into his brain: _pain and waking up in the dark, running and feeling scared, a newspaper headline: "Mental Patient Escapes Cabrillo," being chased by the man in white. _His shoulders shook as he remembered more:_ injections, a straight jacket, the lights going out, and someone trying to choke him. _

_And then Matwick was leaning over him, "Don't worry, Rudy, all will be fine after your treatment. Nurse Bycroft, see to it the patient is kept restrained until then, for his own safety, of course."_

_Treatment?_

He jerked violently as a hand touched his shoulder. Wild, almost feral eyes darted frantically about expecting to see the blond man in white, Switek and Jackson with the straight jacket and gag. But they weren't there. He was alone in the small room except for the girl staring back at him out of wide, frightened eyes.

His body sagged, went limp. His reached up to his head, wincing as he curled onto his side. "M'sorry," he mumbled.

His eyes drooped tiredly.

He felt the blanket being pulled back over him, a hand lingering a bit nervously on his shoulder.

"It's okay. Guess that bump just got you a little confused, that's all. Why don't you just try and rest?'

An increasing fog was wrapping around his mind again as he mumbled, "I-It's Rudy…My name is Rudy Skyler."

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Detective Johansen was reviewing the background reports on Maas when his partner returned to the 55th. He looked up. "Where'd you disappear to?"

"Stopped by the Ninth to see Hutchinson," Marcello replied.

"Oh? Anything more on his missing partner?"

"No. He's still missing."

Marcello then changed the subject, his tone gruff, slightly impatient. "What more did you get from the janitor at the Stardust who found the hooker's body?"

"Nothing. He skipped town. Went back to Mexico."

Marcello grunted. "Just our luck."

"But it wasn't a totally wasted trip," Johansen informed his partner, the younger detective eager to redeem himself. "You were right about Maas and the hooker. They knew each other. Also found out a couple of days before she was killed, her place had been busted into and ransacked. Just like we found Maas' apartment. My guess was it was done by the same person or persons maybe looking for something so I did a little more checking. I found an eight year old kid who remembers seeing three men hanging around Maas place a few days ago."

"Kid able to ID them?"

"No. He doesn't remember much about them beyond the fact that two were white, the third Latino."

Johansen waited for some kind of comment. Instead the older detective just poured a cup of coffee, then sat tiredly down at his desk and started rooting through a stack of files.

When it appeared Marcello had become engrossed in his task, Johansen inwardly sighed. Eight months and the young detective still didn't know if this was going to be a permanent partnership with Marcello or not. The man was just so hard to read sometimes and seemed to have a natural reserve to getting close to anyone. He had heard talk of course, that Marcello tended to be a loner, preferred to keep to himself, but in all honesty, Johansen really liked the guy and wanted to prove himself to him.

But it appeared that wasn't going to happen today. So with slight shrug, he went back to his report.

He'd gotten most of the way through when he frowned, perplexed.

"What is it?" Marcello asked.

"One of the names on Maas background check. Its sounds familiar but I can think where I've heard it before."

"Who?"

"Tony Luciana."

With his face buried in the report he didn't see Marcello's head suddenly snapped up.

~S/H~

Starsky sat up on the edge of the bed, his arm propped out for support as he took several slow deep breaths trying to quell the dizziness that threatened to send him over and onto the floor. Beyond the fact that every muscle and bone in his entire body hurt, his mind remained a muddle of thoughts: barred windows, linoleum floors and the blond intern in particular that had chased him. His face kept coming to him in a confusing mixture of fear and strangely…need? He didn't understand why though and the more he tried to sift out the answer, the more his head hurt.

"Y-you feeling any better, Rudy?" the female voiced asked.

For a moment he just stared at the girl who sat next to him.

_Rudy?_..._That's right…His name was Rudy, Rudy Skyler. _And the girl, he remembered. She had found him, brought him inside…tried to help him?

"Feels like I gotta jackhammer inside me," he mumbled.

"I'm not surprised."

He went to stand, and then let out a sudden hiss as his bruised ribs protested. Blotchy spots appeared before his eyes, followed by a ringing in his ears. His body tipped to one side.

Immediately the girl was by his side, steadying him, easing him back down on the bed. Sweat broke out on his forehead from the small exertion and for several minutes all he could do was sit and wait for his head to clear again.

"You don't look so good, Rudy," the girl said worriedly.

"M'okay…be al'right."

"I think you should really get that bump check out. It could be something bad."

He shook his head, which turned out to be a mistake, and winced. "Don't like hospital, doctors."

He could feel the girl's eyes on him, curious, perplexed.

"Okay," she finally said. "But is there someone then? I…I mean someone maybe I can call or let know you're okay?"

_Was there?_

In his mind there was only Switek, Matwick, nurses, injections, the straight jacket and the dark, followed by pain and fear. Beyond that, everything was a grey soupy mixed up fog. He put his hands to his head, threading them through the dark curls as he tried to concentrate passed the ever constant drum of pain.

The flash of sky blue eyes and blond hair came to him again. But it only confused him more because he couldn't understand why he was seeing the intern in a bar, laughing, playing pool, the same intern who had put ankle restraints on him, helped strap him down on the bed, who had placed the gag over his mouth and left him in the dark.

He inwardly withdrew. "I don't know…"

For a long time he just sat huddled miserably on the bed with the thin blanket draped around his shoulders.

He was scared, nervous and nothing made sense anymore beyond Cabrillo, beyond being locked up, his freedom taken away and forced to comply.

Then just beyond the grey foggy veil something tried to emerge. He concentrated deeply, trying to grasp onto the floating memory, but it kept evading him and made his head pound even harder.

Then he frowned suddenly.

The girl must have noticed something in his expression change as she asked, "What is it, Rudy?"

He shook his head not sure himself, but felt driving by something. He shifted in the bed, struggling to get to his feet again.

"Hey, you shouldn't be doing that."

He grunted, holding his bruised ribs, the blanket falling off his shoulders onto the floor as he put his hand to his head and tried to concentrate. He felt the shaky tremor through his own body but tried to ignore it…it was there…so close, an inner instinct.

He turned to her. "Need ta find a phone."

"You remember something?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"I don't have a phone here, but there's a pay phone by the liquor store a few blocks down."

He moved towards the door. When he reached for the knob though, he had grip the handle for support as his head spun.

The girl was instantly by his side, trying to draw him back.

"'M'okay," he insisted.

The short trip down the block, around the corner and down the few streets to the liquor store seemed endless and by the time they'd arrived sweat was dripping down his back, his face pinched, clearly showing the strain from the effort.

As they rounded the last corner, a police cruiser passed by. Instinctively he pulled back into the alley, suddenly afraid.

_They're looking for you. They're going to take you back – back __there__. _The thought made him shudder. He couldn't, wouldn't go back, not ever, not ever again.

"Hey. Hey. Rudy? You okay?"

For a moment he just stared at her dazed before swallowing and nodded, trying to control the anxiety within him to want to flee, to hide. He waited, watched the streets for a few more moments before venturing cautiously out into the open.

The payphone was located just outside the liquor store near the alley's entrance. Leaning against the wall for support, he dug into the pockets of his jeans searching for change only to discover they were empty. He sagged against the wall in frustration.

Seeing his distress, the girl produced the necessary coins. After inserted them into the payphone, his fingers hovered momentarily over the keypad, then with concentrated effort, shakily depressed the sequence of numbers that had come to him through the fog of his mind. Dragging the receiver to his ear he listened for the connection. It rang four times before it was picked up.

~S/H~

Hutch nearly spilled his coffee all over the files as he reached across the desk to grab the phone. "Hutchinson here."

There was a pause.

"Hello," he repeated.

"Um Hutch? It's me Fifi."

Hutch frowned, taken off guard. It was of all people, his housekeeper? "Yeah, uh, Fifi. What's up?"

"Well, I know you're probably kinda busy and I hate to bother you at work but I came by to pick up the money but it wasn't on the counter."

Hutch groaned suddenly remembering he'd forgotten to pay his housekeeper, _again_. "Oh, jeez. I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay. I figured you got busy again, but uh, I kinda needed it to pay for my mom's medicine."

"I'm sorry, Fifi. Look. I think there's some cash in the cookie jar on top of the fridge. Take what you need out of there."

"Okay, Hutch. Thanks. Oh, and while I was here I went ahead and watered your plants, gave your fichus some extra nutrients and did your laundry."

"Fifi. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, it was no problem. I noticed last week your fichus was looking a little sickly so I brewed up a special batch of nutrients just for him."

He let out an exacerbated sigh. "I meant the _laundry_, Fifi. I told you before, I'm only paying you to clean my apartment once a week, not wash my dirty clothes."

This wasn't the first time he'd had this argument with his housekeeper who took her domestic duties a little _too_ enthusiastically at times.

Fifi was a genuinely nice person, if a bit odd, who took care of her invalid mother. She lived only six blocks away and he'd hired her to come over once a week to clean his apartment, something Starsky had been nagging him to do for years. But he drew the line at letting her do his laundry. It was just one of his fussy quirks about letting someone else fold his underwear he had issues about. _Not_ that she ever listened to him, though.

Fifi was also a passionate plant lover and whenever Hutch was gone for extended periods of time on assignment she was always happy to stop by and make sure his plants were well cared for or nurse back to health the ones his partner had managed to get a hold of.

It was just that Fifi could be a little _too helpful_ at times and Hutch suspected part of that was because she had a slight crush on him and part of it was for some odd reason she found it amusing to see him blush.

"Oh. It wasn't any extra trouble, Hutch. I mean, I was here anyway," she said. "But if you want my opinion, you _really_ could use some new shorts. Your other ones are…uh…kinda looking a little raggedy. I could um…pick some new ones up for you if you don't have the time?"

Hutch's face reddened. "That's _not_ necessary."

"Really, it's no trouble. I was going to go shopping for my mom tomorrow anyway."

"Fifi, NO! Absolutely not!" he said firmly.

"Okay, sure. Whatever you say," she replied. "While I was here, though, you got a couple of calls I thought I should pass onto you. One was from Ashley. She sounded very nice until I told her you weren't home, but I'd let you know she had called just as soon as I finished folding your underwear."

"Fifi!"

There was amusement in her voice. "It was _only_ a joke, Hutch. Lighten up."

Hutch groaned and dragged his hand across his face. He really didn't have time for this. "And the other call?"

"Oh, um, some guy named Rudy."

"Rudy?"

"Yeah. But I'm pretty sure it was just a crank call. I mean he wouldn't even tell me who he was trying to reach and sounded kinda weird, like he was spaced out."

Hutch's brow drew down in a frown as he thought. He didn't know anyone named Rudy nor any snitches and certainly none that would have his home phone number.

"Funny thing is," Fifi continued. "He almost sounded like David."

Hutch became rigid in his seat and gripped the receiver. His tone became clipped, demanding. "Starsky? Are you sure?"

The sudden change of tone in Hutch's voice made the housekeeper's reply hesitant. "Well, no, not really."

"Did he leave any kind of message, a number?"

"No, sorry, Hutch. He just kinda hung up after he asked whose number he had called and I told him."

Hutch raked his hand through his hair.

"Did…did I do something wrong?"

"No, Fifi. I'm sorry. It's just that Starsky is missing and I think he may have been trying to contact me."

"Oh no!"

Despite the fact that Starsky had run away from him earlier, had he been trying to contact him now? But if it _had_ been Starsky, why would he have said his name was Rudy? Then something suddenly clicked. Rudy had been Starsky's cover name at Cabrillo. Could it be Starsky was using the name because he was in some other kind of trouble?

"Listen, Fifi. I need a huge favor from you. Can you stay at my place for a while, in case this Rudy calls again?"

"Well, I have to take Mom to her doctor's appointment at one. But I can stay until then. But I don't understand. Who's Rudy?"

"I'm not sure, but if he calls again try and find out where he is and call the dispatch operator. Where ever I am, they'll be able to get a hold of me right away."

"Okay, Hutch."

"Thanks, Fifi."

Hutch hung up, his worry only increasing.

~S/H~

Starsky stared at the receiver a long time after hanging up.

"_Who's this?" the woman had asked._

_He had hesitated. "It's Rudy."_

_From the sound of her voice, she didn't seem to know him. "Who are you looking for?" _

"_I'm not really sure…whose number is this?" he'd asked._

"_It's the residence of Detective Hutchinson."_

"_Detective?"_

"_Yes, with the Bay City Police Department. He's not at home right now, but would you like to leave a message?"_

"_Message? Uh…No." He had hung up abruptly._

_Officer Hutchinson of the Bay City Police? Why did he have a police officer's number in his head? _

"Rudy? Rudy?"

He looked up to find the girl staring at him. "Huh?"

"I said was that your friend?" she asked.

He stared at the receiver. "No. It was a wrong number."

"I'm sorry."

His body sagged against the wall, even more confused than before.

A few people milling about the liquor store briefly turned their way. He barely noticed their odd glances to his doped out appearance as he slumped against the wall staring off into space.

Suddenly he felt cold and sweaty at the same time.

The girl touched his cheek. "You feel clammy. I don't think that's so good."

"'M'okay."

"Come on, Rudy. We better go back to my place."

He nodded dejectedly as he allowed the girl led him away.

Once back in her little room, Starsky practically collapsed back onto the bed.

Tracee offered him some water, but he refused. He just needed to rest, just for a little bit so he could think, figure things out. But thinking hurt and only caused the same fearful images to roll through his mind…the straight jacket, Matwick hovering over him, voices in the dark...and the pale blue eyes which looked angry now, but he couldn't tell if they were angry at him or someone else?

The sudden knock on the door startled both of them.

His eyes flew up to the door, remembering the police car. Had they seen him after all?

"You expecting someone?" he asked.

She shook her head, frowning.

The second knock came a little more impatiently.

Tracee moved to the door. "Who's there?" she asked timidly.

"It's me, Crissy."

Glancing back at him, Tracee cracked the door open.

"Hey. Let me in will ya?" the voice said impatiently.

Tracee hesitated. "It's really not a good time."

But apparently the visitor had different ideas and pushed her way inside anyway.

"Hey, why so jumpy?"

She stopped short when she saw Tracee wasn't alone.

The girl was slightly taller than Tracee with mid-length dirty-blonde hair dressed in tight black satin pants and a leopard print wrap-around top. "Who the hell are you?" she asked him.

Tracee stepped between them, as if wanting to protect him. "This is Rudy."

"Sorry, I didn't realize you had a customer," the girl sneered at him.

Immediately his eyes became hooded as he regarded the visitor warily.

She frowned apparently not liking the way he looked back at her.

Tracee blushed. "It's not like that. He's just a friend."

She other girl eventually dragged her attention away from him and back to Tracee who stood fidgeting nearby. In a hard voice, she said. "Look. I need to talk to you. _Alone_."

Tracee glanced back at him a little uncertainly. "All right. I'll be right back."

The two stepped outside and Tracee closed the door closed behind them.

~S/H~

The girl grabbed Tracee by the wrist.

"Who the hell is that guy?"

Tracee winced as the other girl's nails cut into her flesh.

"I told you. He's a friend. His name's Rudy."

"Rudy, huh? What cheap sleazy bar did you find him in?"

Tracee jerked her hand free. "It's not like that! Someone beat him up."

"And what? You found him and brought him home like a stray dog?" she laughed sarcastically.

Tracee blushed.

Crissy's eyes widened in disbelief. "You did, didn't you?" She snorted. "Are you crazy? You don't know anything about him."

"I know enough."

Crissy crossed her arms. "Like what?"

Tracee glanced down at her feet. "Enough to know he's not like…like the others."

The other girl rolled her eyes. "They're _all_ like that, you idiot. When are you ever going to learn!"

Tracee crossed her arms. "W-what do you what, Crissy?"

The other girl raked her fingers through her dirty-blonde hair. "Look, you got any money?"

"No, I'm tapped out. Why?"

"I'm into Vinny for two hundred."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Crissy looked to the door. "What about him? He got anything on him you can steal."

Tracee's eyes widened. "I couldn't do that!"

"What? You suddenly have high standards now?"

Tracee face filled with hurt.

"Aw. Shit. I didn't mean it like that. It's just, well, you know how Vinny is. I don't pay him soon, he's going to get nasty."

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I think you should just go now."

Crissy sighed. "Look…"

"Please, just go."

The girl looked at her. "All right. No need to get bent out of shape." She turned to walk away, then stopped. "If I were you, Tracee I'd get rid of that guy, though, and quick."

"Why?"

Again she looked towards the door, frowning. "I don't know…There's just something familiar about him. I don't know what it is, but I don't trust him. I think he's trouble."

Tracee bit her lip.

~S/H~

Starsky immediately sensed the change in her when the girl returned alone. She seemed upset, more nervous than usual.

"Somethin' the matter?"

Tracee stared at him a long time, almost as if she were indecisive about something, then shook her head.

"No. It's okay."

He shivered and dragged the blanket back over his shoulders, wincing from his sore ribs. He huddled beneath it again, but still felt cold.

"Your friend didn't seem ta like me very much."

"She not really a friend." Tracee replied. "We used to…uh… work together." She blushed and turned her head away, clearly wanting to change the subject.

She went to the little kitchen area where a couple of cans were stacked on the counter. "Think maybe you could eat something? I've got a little soup."

He shook his head. The thought of food made him sick, which sounded a bit odd, even to himself. Instead he curled up in the corner on the bed, letting his body sag against the wall. The drumming pain in his head drained his body of energy. His eyes dropped tiredly.

At some point he knew the girl had left, and had returned sometime later. He didn't know where she'd gone and was too tired to ask.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The morning stretched into the afternoon with still not a word or lead.

Hutch was exhausted and becoming increasingly snappish.

The phone rang again and as he reached over to grab it, in his haste, he banged his sore knee against the desk then spent the next several minutes angrily chewing out the party on the other end. When he hung up he knocked the mug of cold coffee over, the contents splattering all over the files on his desk.

He cursed loudly. Another detective came over and tried to help him mop up the mess but Hutch reeled on him too.

Dobey, who must have heard the commotion, emerged from him office. "That's it. Hutchinson, you're going home!"

"I'm fine," Hutch snapped back, then tried to get control of his temper under Dobey's scowl.

"Yeah, I can see just how _fine_ you are. For Starsky's sake and the rest of us, go home and get a few hours rest so you can think rationally. You're starting to loose it."

"But Cap…" he started to argue back.

"That's an order, Hutchinson!"

Simmering, Hutch left and drove back to Venice Place.

Once back in his apartment he rooted around for some more aspirin then made an ice pack for his sore knee. On the counter he found Fifi's note saying no one had called, but to please call her back if he heard anything about David.

Grabbing the extension phone, he set in on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. He didn't feel like going to bed and knew he was not actually going to sleep despite his exhaustion. The image of Starsky, hurt and frightened and running away kept replaying in his mind. He would just close his eyes, just for a while.

The phone ringing startled him awake two hours later.

~S/H~

Hutch pulled the Tornio up in front of a taco stand on Verdugo. The call had been from Huggy asking him to meet him. The black man greeted him through the open passenger window.

"What have you got, Huggy?"

"I got a Latin brother who may have seen Starsky with a chick."

"Who?"

Huggy nodded his head over to a skinny short man sitting on one of the concrete tables off to the side. "His name's T-Bone. But he's a little skittish, especially around cops."

"Will he talk to me?"

"I told him you're cool. Just don't make any fast moves."

Hutch nodded and climbed out of the car.

Huggy approached the Latino and straddled the bench next to him, then indicated for Hutch to sit across on the other side of the table. "T-Bone. This is my friend I was telling you about. His name is Hutch."

The man looked up his eyes wary as he assessed the blond. "You don't look like no cop. I don't like cops very much."

"Not all of us are bad, you know."

The man snorted. "So Huggy tells me. Haven't met a nice one yet."

"There's always a first time for everything."

The man smiled cynically.

"Huggy tells me you might have seen my partner, Detective Starsky?"

The man fiddled with a plastic straw he held in his hand. "Maybe. I'm not sure." He cocked his head. "What about the deal first?"

"The deal?" Hutch swiveled his head to look at Huggy, his eyes narrowing.

Huggy jumped into to explain. "You see, T-Bone here has got a bit of a problem, Hutch. He's on parole and got picked up on a possession charge."

"It wasn't my fault, I swear!" T-bone interjected. "I didn't know the chick was carrying, man. I only met her at a bar."

"I see. What do you think I can do for you?"

"Just square it with my parole officer. Explain it to him. I can't afford to go down on a third count for a crummy possession charge. I've really been trying to go straight, I swear. Look." From his pocket he pulled out a metal disk and slid it across the table. Hutch recognized it as one from an Addicts Anonymous Group. "See. I've been clean for three months. Three months of sweat and blood, man." The man's fingers trembled but his eyes were clear, focused. "Hardest thing I've ever had to do. Damn parole officer won't believe me though. Huggy says you're cool, though. Says you'd understand."

Hutch looked at Huggy who remained silent.

"What's your parole officer's name?"

"Keets. He's a real hard ass though."

"I promise I'll do my best, but I can't make any guarantees."

The man chuckled without humor. "Yeah. Huggy said you'd say that too. But he also says you keep your word, you shoot a straight deal."

"I try."

The man looked down at his hands. "Guess that's all I can ask."

"What about my partner?"

"I think I saw him, but if you have a picture I could be sure."

Hutch produced a photo of Starsky he kept in his wallet.

The man nodded. "Yeah, that's him."

"Where did you see him?"

"He was with a chick. Her name's Tracee."

"This Tracee. You know where she lives?"

He shook his head. "But I see her around the liquor store off of Vermont a lot. Sometimes she works the corner. You know, when she's really hurting. Other times, she just comes in for some booze."

"And you saw Detective Starsky with her?"

He nodded. "By the pay phone next to the liquor store. I mean I think it was him. He looked kinda bad."

"Thanks, T-Bone."

"You won't forget to talk to my parole officer?"

"No. I won't forget." Hutch slid the disk back over to Latino. "Here. You don't want to loose this. It means a lot."

T-Bone took it back and gripped it in his hand. "Yeah. Probably cost only a nickel to make, but its worth more than gold. Know what I mean?"

Hutch nodded. "Yeah. I do."

Less than ten minutes later they were talking to the owner of the liquor store.

Yeah, the owner knew of the girl Tracee, but had no idea where she lived, he told Hutch. She came in at least twice a week for booze. She was a quiet, kinda of skittish girl with short dirty blond hair, about five foot three, but he hadn't seen her today. When Hutch showed him a picture of Starsky, the owner shook his head. He hadn't seen him either. But then again, he'd been inside the store most of the day.

Hutch thanked him and left.

"What now?" Huggy asked.

Hutch thought. "We must have passed a half dozen liqueur stores on our way over here. That means if she's a regular, most likely she lives in the neighborhood, probably within a few blocks walking distance. Let's see what we can find out."

~S/H~

Crissy spoke into the payphone glancing nervously about to see if anyone was watching.

"There's a guy staying with her. She says his name's Rudy, but I think he's cop."

"A cop? What gives you that idea?"

"I recognized him."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure. He and his partner busted my cousin last year for dealing. I'm sure it was him."

"What's his name?"

"Starsky."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Where?"

She gave him the address.

"You won't forget our deal, right? A hundred off?"

"A hundred."

~S/H~

The booky hung up the phone. A moment later he placed another call. "Yeah. It's me, Vinny. You still looking for Maas' partner? Well, I think I've got something for you, but you're not going to like it. He's a cop."

~S/H~

Marcello was just setting the phone back in its cradle as Johansson returned to the squad room.

"Ready to go?" the young detective asked.

"Huh?"

"Downstairs to grab a bite to eat."

Marcello shook his head. "You go ahead," he grunted. "I'm not that hungry."

"Sure?"

"I said I wasn't hungry," Marcello snapped.

Johansen looked at him oddly. "Something the matter?"

"Leave it, Johansen, got it?" he replied in an authoritative tone, making the younger man's eyes widen.

"Sure, okay. Guess I'll meet you back here later?"

He gave a grunt for a reply and his partner left, a frown creasing his face.

Once alone in the empty squad room Marcello sank back in his chair, suddenly feeling a hundred years old. The call only seemed to confirm what he'd suspected all along.

With a deep sigh he opened the draw to his desk and rifled through the contents before extracting a picture tucked in the back. The colors of the picture where faded, its edges worn from the many times he'd held it. He studied one of the two faces in the photo.

Though laughing, the eyes now seemed to stare back, almost accusingly. _Don't do this_. _You don't have to do this. _

He held the edges of the photo, memories of times happily shared had long since been tainted by what he'd been forced to accept in loss and absence. Since that day he'd lost was had once driven him, what had once been so important and clear cut.

His sigh was deep and long now as he forced his mind to accept what could no longer be denied.

_Yeah, I do. I'm sorry…I don't have choice, not anymore... _

He set the picture back in his desk drawer before reaching for the phone.

"Where is he?" he asked the recipient on the other end, his tone becoming clipped, impatient. "It's important. Tell him it's Marcello," he said curtly. "Tell him I need to see him right away. No. He'll know what it's all about."

Marcello then donned his jacket and left, his strides purposeful.

Johansen returned to the squad room a short while later. He'd brought an extra sandwich in an attempted peace offering but found his partner no where about.

The phone rang on Marcello's desk. He answered it. The caller was looking for a case number on a report they had completed a couple of days ago. Johansen remembered seeing it somewhere, and then remembered his partner had had it last. He looked through the stack of files on top of Marcello's desk before opening the drawer pushing some loose items aside before spotting the file in question. He gave the caller the required information.

It was as he was putting the file back that Johansen noticed the picture lying on top. Two smiling faces looked up into the camera, side by side in the middle of some kind of social celebration. He barely recognized his partner. He'd never really seen Marcello smile like that in the eight months they'd been partnered. He looked happy, energetic, full of life.

The young detective looked at the digital date printed in the corner showing the picture to have been taken almost eight years ago.

Another detective came in, and feeling like he was snooping, he quickly replaced the photo in the drawer.

"Hey, have you seen Marcello around?" he asked.

"What's the matter, Johansen, piss him off already?" the other man joked.

"No. I mean, uh…what do you mean?"

"Marcello took off ten minutes ago."

"Where'd he go?"

"How the hell should I know? He's _your _partner!" The other detective left the room.

"Yeah, I was hoping so too," Johansen replied. Feeling once again like he'd been shelved, he sat irritably down behind his desk and went back to reading the case reports on Maas. A few seconds later his eyes widened as something clicked in his brain.

"Shit!"

The young detective grabbed his jacket and quickly headed out the door, more determined than ever to find his partner.

~S/H~

Between the relentless throbbing beats in his head and the ache of bruised ribs that burned with each intake of air, Starsky was completely and utterly miserable. On top of all that his body didn't seem to know which direction it wanted to go anymore because one minute he felt hot, and the next cold, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his chest. He felt nauseous with a sick metallic aftertaste to the back of throat while his gut kept doing funny little flip flops

Tracee knelt down in front, her eyes expressing her increasing worry. "You're lookin' pretty bad, Rudy. Maybe you should go the hospital?"

He shook his head. "No…can't…won't go back…"

"Go back where?"

He refused to answer.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? With the cops, I mean? Is that it?"

He eyes dropped, became hooded. "Don't mean to cause ya any trouble."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

"'M'sorry. I'll go…" he went to get up.

"Don't! It's okay. I mean, I've been down that road a couple times myself." She hesitated. "Look, I-I know someone. He's a doctor. Well, kind of a doctor, except he said he couldn't practice here in this country 'cause he didn't have the right papers."

He shook his head.

"He won't tell anyone, Rudy. Just let him check you out, okay? I'm worried about you. Your color doesn't look very good and I think you're startin' to run a fever."

Starsky hesitated, but the truth be told, he felt like crap.

Reluctantly he tipped his head in a nod.

The girl sighed in relief. "He's not far. About six blocks away. Think you can make it?"

He nodded again.

She helped him to his feet.

They hadn't gotten far, maybe a few blocks when out of nowhere two men suddenly appeared before them. They were both dressed similarly in denim jackets and white t-shirts.

Tracee's eyes widened in recognition.

The brown haired man drew closer.

"Hello, Tracee."

"Trey…."

"Why so jumpy?"

The girl laughed nervously. "Y-You scared me, that's all."

"Where you been?" The other asked. "We haven't seen you around lately. Been lookin' for you."

She tugged on her short hair with the tips of her fingers, shrugging. "Nowhere, you know, just around."

The first man she had addressed as Trey swiveled his attention towards Starsky. "So who's you're friend here?"

"This is Rudy," Tracee answered hesitantly.

"Rudy, huh?"

The man cocked his head to the side causing Starsky's own expression to become suddenly guarded. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he deliberately dropped his hands to his side and tried to straighten his body to his full height. He dropped the lids halfway over his eyes concealing his expression.

The two men continued to assess him for several long seconds until Trey turned his head back to the girl. "What's Tommy been up to, Tracee?"

Tracee eyes widened. "Tommy? I have no idea…I haven't seen him in weeks. Not since he beat me up, threw me out. Why do you want to know?"

"We want to know who he's been hanging around with lately, talking to, making deals with."

Again, the man's eyes settled on Starsky.

"S-so why don't you just go ask him. Why bother me?" Tracee replied.

The man stepped a little closer to the girl. "That's a little difficult right now, considering he's dead."

Her eyes become saucers. "Dead..."

"That's right. And you were his old lady, Tracee."

"N-not anymore. I told you!"

"That's not what we heard from your little bitch friend at the Stardust."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Then I'll spell it out for you. Tommy pulled a job with us for _lot_ of money, get it. But before he made the split, he decided to get funny on us and doubled crossed us with someone."

"I don't know anything about any money! I swear!"

Her wrist was suddenly grabbed and twisted backward. Tracee let out a painful gasp.

"Don't lie to us, Tracee," the man sneered. "We know Tommy was sniffing around you a couple of days ago. Your little hooker friend told us."

"She's lying!"

Hearing the girl's escalating fear, Starsky took a step forward, but his advance was blocked by the second man who stepped between them and before he could react, a fist landed into his stomach.

Starsky doubled over in immediate pain, sinking to his knees, unable to stop the deep groan from escaping his lips as the wind was knocked out of him.

"What you have to do that for?" Tracee cried. "He didn't do anything!"

"Shut up, bitch!"

At Trey's bidding, the second man drew a gun out from behind his back and leveled it at Starsky who was now sagging against the wall, one knee on the ground, the other leg bent up to his chest, with his arm wrapped around his waist as he tried to catch his breath. Spots swam in his eyes.

"Thought we wouldn't figure it out, find you?" Trey sneered down at him.

Starsky's eyes widened.

"No please," Tracee protested. "Leave him alone! He doesn't know anything!"

The man shook her. "Shut up, bitch. You think we're that stupid! Tommy was setting us up, wasn't he?"

"I don't know what you mean?"

"I think you do and now you're both coming with us."

"No!" Tracee panicked and started to struggle.

In the brief scuffle, the man holding the gun turned his attention for a second away from Starsky. It was all the distraction the injured man needed as instinct kicked in and he flung his entire body at the man, hitting him in the shoulder and knocking him off balance. Caught off guard, the gun slipped from his hand as he stumbled sideways, tripped and went head first into a grate.

The momentum sent Starsky crashing to the ground as well.

Trey still struggling with Tracee, saw what was happening and pushed the girl forcefully away. Tracee hit the brick wall and slid dazed to the ground.

From his back pocket, Trey pulled a switchblade. His eyes glittered as he started towards Starsky still sprawled out on the ground. "I going to enjoy slicing the information out of you, pig."

Lying half on his side, Starsky felt the hard metal barrel of the gun under his right hip. He grabbed for it with his left hand as he rolled onto his back. His attacker froze when he saw the gun now aimed at his chest.

"Stay back!"

Starsky scooted painfully backwards until he was up against the wall and then leveraged himself up into a standing position. He then looked over at the girl who lay motionless.

The man took a step towards him again, but Starsky tightened his grip and squeezed off a warning round. It whizzed passed him and struck the wall behind him.

The man froze, his eyes glittering in fury.

He kept the gun leveled as he maintained a shaky stance. His vision started to blur and he had to blink several times to clear it. Then over his assailant's shoulder he saw a third man enter the alley, and started running towards them.

Starsky backed away, panic driving him. He took off down the alley, stumbling as he went.

Behind him he heard one of them shout. "Get him. Don't let him get away!"

A few seconds later gunfire erupted. The first bullet whizzed harmlessly past. The second hit the ground only inches from his stumbling feet. Then Starsky felt a burning sear of pain cutting through his left bicep as the third found its mark.

~S/H~

Trey hauled Miguel angrily to his feet. He was slightly dazed with a small gash on his forehead from hitting the crates. Luciana joined them, his gun still smoking.

The three men took off down the alley after the fleeing man.

"There he is!" Trey shouted as he saw the injured man disappear into a brick building.

~S/H~

Hutch and Huggy followed the directions given to them by a homeless man digging through a trash can collecting glass bottles who said he'd seen the girl around and thought she lived in a little hole in the wall a few blocks down.

They had just rounded the corner when they heard shots. Hutch started running with Huggy close behind him. As they reached the end of the next block, Hutch skidded to a stop and withdrew his magnum, motioning Huggy to stay back while he peered around the corner.

On the ground a short distance away, a woman was lying.

Surveying the surroundings and staying low, he quickly crossed the distance and went to her aid. He crouched down on one knee, trying to assess her injuries, but didn't see any blood or indications she'd been wounded.

As soon as Hutch touched her, the girl started to stir. Her eyes opened and filled with fright as she saw him leaning over her with the magnum gripped tightly in his hand.

"It's okay, miss. I'm a cop," he assured. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

The girl struggled to sit up, holding the back of her head, as a small crowd of curious onlookers started to gather. "I'm okay."

"What's your name?"

"Tracee," she replied hesitantly.

Hutch's head snapped up.

"Tracee, my name's Detective Hutchinson. Can you tell me what happened here? I heard shots."

"I'm not sure…" she began, then her thoughts seemed to clear and she looked frantically around. "Where's Rudy?"

"Rudy?"

"The man who was with me."

Hutch quickly dragged his wallet out and showed her the picture of Starsky. "This man?"

She looked at it, recognizing the familiar features in the smiling man, leaning shoulder to shoulder with the blond towering over her. "Yes, that's Rudy."

"This is Detective David Starsky. He's my partner. I've been looking for him."

Her eyes suddenly widened and she grabbed Hutch by the sleeve. "Please, you've got to help him. They're after him."

"Who?"

"Trey and Miguel. I think they're gonna kill him."

Hutch grabbed her by the shoulders. "Which way did they go?"

"I don't know." Tears sprung in her eyes.

Hutch cursed.

"Mister, I know which way they went."

Hutch turned to see a black youth, about ten, on a bike.

"Where?"

"Down the end of the alley. There were three of them and they chased the another man into the building at the end."

"Thanks, kid."

Hutch looked up at Huggy.

"Call in for help and get an ambulance for the girl. I'm going after them."

"Hutch, you can't go in there alone without backup. It's three against one!"

"I've got to!"

Without giving Huggy a chance to respond, Hutch took off.

Huggy called after him. "Hutch!"

But Hutch was already half way down the alley. Huggy cursed, and then took off for the nearest pay phone_. _

_Damn blond was going to get himself and Curly killed! _

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**(sorry for the re-reposts - damn stupid typos!)**

**Chapter Twelve**

At the end of the alley Hutch found a back door standing ajar. Heart pounding, he eased up to it slowly from the side, staying low until he was abreast of it. It was then he noticed the smeared blood on the wood panel and his urgency increased. With an outstretched hand he pushed the door the rest of the way open, cautiously peered inside, and then darted in.

He found himself in a large gutted out building which looked like it had once been offices or storage spaces that had undergone varying degrees of renovation, but had since been abandoned. Some of the walls were still intact, others the plaster had been removed, exposing the skeletal lattice frame work beneath. Still others were completed stripped down to the supportive framing. Trash littered the floor and the stench of urine hung stagnant in the air.

The interior was dim, filled with many shadows that Hutch knew could easily lurk hidden danger. Knowing he was alone without back-up, he listened cautiously, his mind sharply focused, as he moved methodically through the building, the magnum poised in front of him, his other hand raised defensively up. Pale blue eyes keenly scanned the interior for any shift of movement as he stayed close to the walls and peered around corners carefully but quickly as he searched for his injured partner.

Hutch had covered most of the ground floor when he heard a noise off to his left. He spun around a corner and found two junkies huddled together on a tattered bare mattress. They looked at him out of glazed eyes that suddenly turned in fear as they saw the magnum pointed directly at them. Hutch held his other hand palm up to them in assurance before drawing his forefinger to his lips, indicating they be quiet.

The two junkies nodded, hugging each other close as the tall man with the big gun moved away.

Tucked at the end of a hallway, Hutch found a narrow flight of stairs and on the first few steps noticed several drops of fresh blood. He ascending quickly, hoping, praying he'd find his partner in time.

~S/H~

Before Huggy got far, an unmarked unit arrived on the scene and to his surprise Detective Marcello climbed out.

"Heard the shots fired call over the radio. What's going on here?" Marcello demanded.

Huggy quickly explained the situation.

"Where's Detective Hutchinson?"

"He went in after his partner," Huggy replied

A black and white unit pulled up behind the sedan. Scowling, Marcella barked off orders to the two uniformed officers who joined them. "Hutchinson needs back up. You two get the perimeter secured outside. I'm going in to help."

~S/H~

Voices below kept him moving upward until he was forced to climb several flights.

Winded and in pain, he sought refuge in one of the many gutted out rooms which branched off from the service stairwell. He slid to the floor in a corner and he tried to slow his breathing down.

His right hand was covered in blood as he tried to stem the oozing flow coming from his left bicep. He pressed his head against the wall from the pain.

The creak of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs made the hairs on the back on his neck spring up. He gripped the gun tightly in his hand.

"_You really think you can run, Rudy? That you can hide? There's no where to go, no where to escape. Just give up. It'll go easier on you."_

He withdrew deeper into the shadows, afraid, not sure anymore if the voice was real or in his head. The only he did know was he wasn't going back to Cabrillo, not ever.

~S/H~

Marcello moved quickly once inside the building. His instincts that the two detectives must have been working undercover all along drove him forward. He still didn't know how much they may have figured out, but it didn't matter, his thoughts only on a single objective, to find Hutchinson and his injured partner.

~S/H~

Hutch followed the small spotted blood trail until he'd reached the third floor and thought he heard a noise.

Like the first floor, most of the walls on this level were gutted out, some completely removed. Maneuvering around boxes and scattered debris, under his weight, the floorboards creaked and popped loudly making him cringe, while a few sagged uncomfortably beneath his steps leading Hutch to the assumption the whole damn floor was probably rotted out beneath him.

A scuffle of sound off to his right made him swing around and duck down. Briefly he saw a flash of movement but he couldn't immediately tell if it was Starsky or one of the three men chasing him. Silently he backed away, hoping to come around to the other side for a better look.

The sudden blast of unexpected gunfire splintered the wood near his face and made him drop to the floor and quickly scoot behind several boxes. Getting onto his knees, he returned fire with a couple of rounds but knew he missed, the gunman having already disappeared somewhere back into the shadows.

~S/H~

Marcello heard the shots and made his way up the stairs. He entered the upper level, staying low but moving purposefully. When he rounded one of the walls he stopped short as he saw the glint of steel first from the gun, the outstretched hand and face as the tall blond detective moved out from behind the concealment of boxes.

Marcello assessed the situation quickly, then drew his weapon. Hutchinson was almost directly within his gun site, only partially blocked by a beam. He could clearly see the man's face as he spotted his target. Marcello hesitated briefly, but knew he no longer had any options left.

He shifted his stance bringing the man into his sites. His finger closed around the trigger.

_I'm sorry…_

~S/H~

"Hutchinson! Get down!"

Hutch heard the shout coming from his right.

It was followed immediately by the loud explosion of gunfire and a second later its return from the opposing direction, trapping Hutch where he dropped to the floor on his belly in between. The volley of bullets whizzing over his head lasted only a few seconds before Hutch heard a strangled cry followed by crash and looked over to see a figure fall out of the shadows onto the ground.

He looked in the opposing direction and to his surprise found Detective Marcello standing about ten feet away, the gun poised in front of him.

Hutch's eyes widened as Marcello approached.

Slowly the detective lowered his weapon.

Hutch's brain quickly reverted to auto pilot and went to the fallen man's side, kicked the gun out of the way. But he needn't of bothered. The gunman stared back at him out of dead eyes, blood quickly pooling around his neck.

Marcello didn't say anything as he stared down at the dead man, his gun held loosely in his hand.

"Thanks. I owe you." Hutch said a little hesitantly, sensing something in Marcello that was off.

The older detective merely blinked.

"Hey? You okay?"

Marcello nodded, still staring at the dead man. Hutch frowned.

"You know him?"

Again Marcello nodded. In a flat, dead voice he replied. "His name's Tony Luciana. Six years ago he used to be my partner."

"Your partner…" Hutch said stunned.

Marcello started to stagger and it was only then did Hutch notice the crimson stain coming through the older man's jacket. He started to sink to the ground. Hutch grabbed him, eased him into a sitting position.

"You're hit!"

Marcello brushed him off. "It's alright. It ain't bad. Only a flesh wound in the side."

He then grabbed Hutch by the front of his jacket, eyes glittering in pain but with urgency in his voice. "Go find your partner, Hutchinson, before the others find him."

Hutch hesitated.

"Go, damnit. I'm all right!"

Hutch nodded, still not completely sure just what had happened here but at the moment he didn't have the time to process it. He took one more glance at the older detective before he took off.

~S/H~

Alerted by the gunfire, several uniforms arrived on the third floor within minutes, their guns drawn and right alongside them was Marcello's partner.

At the sight the older detective sitting slumped next to the body, Johansen raced over to his partner. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the dead man laying in a pool of blood, recognizing the face of Marcello's former partner from the picture in Marcello's desk. He had finally made the connection between the name found in the background reports on Maas with Marcello's old partner.

His mouth turned grimly down but said nothing as he addressed the detective's wound.

"Guess you figured it out, huh?" Marcello winced under the younger man's ministrations.

"I-I'm sorry, Frank," Johansen said awkwardly to both the question and the pain he was inflicting.

"Me too," Marcello replied, great sadness in his voice. "I just wished I'd been wrong."

"Where's Hutchinson?"

Marcello looked up at the young detective. "You need to go help him, Sam. Help him find his partner. Later…we'll talk."

Johansen nodded. He went to get up, but Marcello grabbed him by the sleeve, his grip remarkably strong. "You be careful, kid, you hear me? I'm getting too damn old to break in any more partners."

For the first time in eight months the younger detective saw acceptance and acknowledgement in the older man's eyes. With a nod of assurance, Johansen took off.

~S/H~

The gunfire coming from the floor below startled Starsky who retreated further back and accidentally bumped into several poles propped against the wall. They toppled over and clattered loudly as they hit the floor.

He heard someone shout. "This way! He's over here!"

In the dim lighting he could see the two figures entering the room, moving towards him. He scrambled backwards from his hiding place and crawled under a section of scaffolding into another room, his progress awkward and slow from his injuries.

Using the wall as leverage, he pushed himself back into a standing position, but remained bent over as his ribs protested and his head felt like it was ready to explode.

He could hear his pursuers moving further into the room, closer and all his he could think of was being caught, strapped down and becoming Matwick's next guinea pig. Shakily he gripped the gun still in his hand as he back further away, searching for another avenue of escape.

~S/H~

Hutch had ascended to the next floor. He stopped, listened then heard the echoing sound of running feet down the corridor to his left. He quickly took off in that direction.

~S/H~

Miguel spotted the injured cop. "There he is!"

He fired off a round which splintered the wood above the cop's head as he leaned against the wall. The curly haired man ducked out of sight.

Miguel quickly moved around hoping to cut his escape off. For a second he couldn't see anything, then saw him trying to retreat back. He carefully took aim again. He never got off the second round though as a very large, very tall and very solid object suddenly slammed into him.

~S/H~

The impact sent both men into a pile of clutter.

Hutch felt the magnum knocked out of his hand as he landed in a tangled pile of arms and legs.

Hutch scrambled to get back to his feet but had no time to look for his gun as he saw the second suspect already coming at him with a knife.

He barely missed the sweep of the blade as it arched at him.

He backed up, grabbed the first thing he could, which turned out to be a bucket and lobbied it at his attacker.

Hutch ducked the next swipe and pushed himself into the open, into the center of the room.

The man smiled, circling him.

Hutch grabbed a three foot piece of PCV pipe. With his attention focused on the swinging blade arcing at him, he didn't see the second man getting back to his feet and coming at him from behind.

He jumped on Hutch's back, grabbing the detective in a strangle hold around the neck.

Hutch struggled to get the man off him, to breath, as the knifeman moved in.

"Hold it, police!"

In the next instant he heard a shot and the man holding the knife suddenly spin as the bullet impacted with his shoulder.

Hutch immediately dropped the PCV pipe, and threw his elbow backwards. It landed into the second suspect's ribcage.

The man grunted.

Hutch then grabbed him by the wrist and in a move Starsky would have been most proud of, flipped him over onto his back. The man didn't get back up.

Marcello's partner quickly secured and handcuffed the knifeman who lay doubled over.

Hutch shouted out to his partner, who had disappeared again. "Starsky! Starsk! Where are you?"

"Go ahead. I've got these two," Johansen assured.

Hutch nodded and took off.

He spotted Starsky retreating back down the hallway and then up another set of service stairs.

He ran after him.

The stairs led up to the roof which was about as cluttered as the interior with various sheds and junk stored in piles.

Hutch saw Starsky staggering towards the other end of the building before he disappeared around a corrugated metal shed.

As he rounded the shed he spotted his partner leaning against the wall, holding onto to his left arm which was covered in blood. Instinctively Hutch moved towards his injured friend, grateful, relieved to have finally found him.

"Starsky! Thank God I found you!"

Starsky's head snapped up startled. His eyes widened and Hutch knew instantly he had made a huge mistake as his partner panicked and backed up along the far end of the structure, and then to Hutch's horror, out onto the outer flat perimeter of the roof.

Starsky stumbled, his breathing heavy and his eyes showed both his desperation and fear as he sought an avenue of escape. When he realized he had backed himself into a corner though he sagged against the side of the metal corrugated wall in a half crouched position and shakily raised his blood soaked hand as Hutch tried to advance.

"Stay back!"

"Starsky?"

"Don't come any closer!" his partner ordered.

And it was then Hutch saw the gun gripped tightly in his partner's trembling hand.

Hutch froze.

His partner sank weakly to his knees. "Stay the fuck away from me!"

Immediately Hutch held his hands, palms up to show his partner they were empty. "Babe, it's me. It's Hutch."

Starsky continued to scoot backward, unaware that he was moving ever closer to the edge of the building. Hutch's heart leapt in his throat.

"Starsky, don't move. Don't move!"

The gun shook in Starsky hand. "I said get back!"

Hutch was forced to take a few steps back, his own panic welling within him. "Buddy, put the gun down…It's me. Hutch. Please, l-let me help you."

Starsky shook his head. The stained crimson hand trembled. He blinked several times, his face contorting in obvious pain while rivets of sweat ran down the injured man's forehead. His eyes looked wild, almost feral.

"No…I'm not going back!"

"Back?" Hutch asked, perplexed.

Starsky gripped the gun tightly, his whole body tensely poised, yet shaking with the same fear as earlier, clearly afraid of Hutch as if he were seeing him as someone else.

It was then he recalled the girl had called him Rudy.

_Rudy?_ Light dawned in his eyes, followed by shock and sick dread as he looked at his frightened partner cowering away from him. _Surely it couldn't mean?_

"Babe, d-don't you know who I am?" he asked in a choked voice.

Starsky sneered. "Oh, I know who you are! I know who you _all_ are. You and Switeck and Jackson…and I know why you're here too! He sent you…sent you to bring me back!"

_Oh God!_ _Oh my god…_

In his confused state, suddenly Hutch realized Starsky _really_ thought he was Rudy Skyler!

Hutch's heart was pounding in his chest. "Please babe, you don't understand. You're just confused."

"I said stay back or I swear I'll blow you away!"

Starsky was breathing raggedly, clearly distressed, clearly afraid.

Suddenly Starsky gripped his head and swayed. His left foot shifted outward, closer to the edge of the building's flat top roof.

Color drained from Hutch's face and cold fear ran down his spine.

_Oh, God, he's going to fall! _

"Starsky, don't move!"

Aware of the gun still aimed at his chest, Hutch was far more afraid at the moment for his partner's safety. He had to remain calm, had to somehow get through to him.

He dropped his voice very softly to the tone he reserved strictly for his partner. "Please listen to me, babe. You're _not_ Rudy Skyler. You're name's David…David Starsky."

The curly haired man shook his head, the gun trembling in his hand.

"Someone attacked you, buddy and h-hit you over the head and you're just a little confused right now."

"No!"

"I'm t-telling you the truth. You're David, not Rudy. You're David Starsky and I'm Hutch, your partner."

"Partner?"

"Yes, babe. We're cops. Don't you remember? Detectives. We were on an undercover assignment at Cabrillo."

"No you're Hansen, the intern. He sent you. Sent you to bring me back!"

"No babe. Hansen was only my cover character I was playing _at_ Cabrillo. Just like Rudy Skyler was yours. They were just _roles_ we were playing in order to find out who was murdering some of the patients."

Starsky frowned.

"Do you remember, Starsky?" Hutch coaxed. "Don't you remember our assignment?"

"Matwick…"

"That's right. It was Dr. Matwick. He was experimenting with psyche drugs on the patients."

"No! Matwick said I-I was sick….said I killed someone, said I needed to be restrained, punished," the confused man countered.

"He was lying partner. He found about about us. Found out we were cops. Tried to kill us both, but you caught him Starsky. You caught him."

Starsky continued to hold the gun on Hutch. His left foot was mere inches from the edge. If he made just one more move…_No!_...Somehow, somehow Hutch needed to get through to him before….._Oh God…he couldn't think about it, the what ifs._

Hutch crouched down at eye level to his partner, hoping to appear less intimidating, yet in a way he could spring if he needed to. One hand reached beseechingly to the frightened man. "Starsky I would never lie to you, never hurt you. You know that d-don't you?"

"Just stay away! Stay away from me."

Hutch ignored the gun and focusing his attention only on the dark frightened eyes staring back. "You're my partner, Starsk, and m-my best friend. I've been looking for you all night, all day buddy. I've been so worried about you…Please, babe. Please put the gun down. I know you don't really want to hurt me. You don't really want to hurt anyone."

Starsky twisted his head as if he suddenly had trouble focusing. The gun dipped slightly, then rose again, uncertain. Hutch could see the inner battle playing within his confused partner.

"No, it's a trick. I remember. I remember you tying me down, putting the gag on me."

"Ah, Starsk! It was just part of our assignment, an act. I w-would never deliberately hurt you. You're the most important thing in my life!"

"You left me…"

Hutch flinched.

"I know buddy. I didn't want to, but if I had stayed, it would have blown our cover."

Starsky rubbed his forehead. "Can't think…everything is mix up."

"I know it feels like that right now, but I'm not lying to you, babe. We've been partners for a long time, friends for a long time. Me and you and even that stupid stripped tomato you call a car."

Starsky sagged a little further, his foot almost touching the edge of the roof. Hutch breath caught in his throat.

Starsky held his head, moaning pitifully "Hurts."

"I know babe. I know it hurts. Just don't move, babe, please. Just don't move. Let me come to you. Let me h-help you."

The gun shook in Starsky's hand, his tired eyes unknowingly pleaded for help.

Hutch moved a tentative step forward. "Everything's going to be okay, buddy. I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid of me."

The gun rose again, hesitated then lowered a little more. "That's it babe. That's it."

Cautiously he inched closer, keeping his movements as non-threatening as possible while his own heart raced, afraid any sudden move would startled him and make Starsky bolt.

When he was within six feet, suddenly two uniformed officers rounded the corner, weapons drawn. Hutch caught their advance just out of his peripheral vision and tried to wave them back, but he knew it was too late, Starsky had seen them.

Overwhelming panic hit him as Starsky scrambled backward. In horror, he saw the blue Adidas sneaker slip off the edge.

It was enough to throw his already injured partner off balance and with a startled cry Starsky pitched sideways.

"NO!"

Hutch sprang towards him just Starsky's left leg slipped over the edge. The gun dropped out of Starsky's hand as he tried desperately to grab and claw at the ledge seeking purchase as his right leg followed the momentum. It bounced then disappeared from sight as Starsky's torso followed. For a second it looked like he was able to lock his forearms against the ledge and brace himself, but his weight prevented him from succeeding. His forearms dragged against the cement as his body slid.

Hutch leapt the remaining distance into a head first dive. His fingers just brushed his partner's hand as Starsky cried out, eyes completely dilated in abject terror, before he fell out of sight.

"_NOOOOO!…" _Hutch's screamed pierce the air, pierced his soul and ripped his heart in two as he stared at the empty space left behind…

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hutch's dragged his face away from the empty space his partner had been only a second before, shutting his eyes tightly, not wanting to look over, not wanting to see what he was sure he'd find.

"Oh, God. _STARSKY!_..." The deep guttural cry tore from his throat as the two officers joined him.

In shock and grief he balled his fist together. "Star-sky! Starsk! Noooo…" he wailed as uncontrollable sobs shook his entire body.

The knuckles on his clenched fists turned white as tears poured from his eyes quickly staining the cement beneath his cheek where he collapsed as he repeated Starsky's name over and over again.

One of the officers knelt beside the grief stricken man while the other leaned over the edge to confirm what they all knew had just happened.

The shocked words that came out of the officer's mouth were the last anyone expected. "Oh my God! He's still there!"

Hutch's head snapped up.

"He's still there!"

Hutch literally dragged his body to the edge and looked over. He gasped at what he saw.

Starksy had somehow managed to grab onto an ornamental cornice jutting out from the side of the building below them while his feet where balanced on the lip of a very narrow ledge.

"Starsky!"

Relief was followed with renewed terror and in a second Hutch's upper torso was over the side of the building, stretching his long arm out towards him, but couldn't quite reach him.

His partner clung to the side of the building, almost catatonic with fear.

Hutch shimmied over the edge a little further.

"Detective, stop! You'll fall!"

"Hold my legs, damnit. Hold my legs!"

The officers pinned him down as Hutch stretched his torso, extending it out further as both arms reached towards his partner. His fingertips brushed the top of one of Starsky's hands.

"Starsk! Grab my hand! Grab my hand!"

The curly haired man remained unresponsive, paralyzed in fear as he clung to the chunk of protruding cement.

"Starsky! Starsky!"

Hutch was practically screaming at him.

Finally the curly head looked up in shock.

"Grab my hand, buddy! Grab my hand!"

Starsky's face was white, his eyes dilated in fear.

"I-I can't…I'll fall!"

Hutch strained towards him but still couldn't quite reach him. He shouted over his shoulder. "Lower me down further!"

The officers straining to keep the cop from going over as well were able to give him a few more inches.

Hutch was able to grab Starsky by his left wrist. The long fingers closed around the blood soaked limb in a vice like grip, just as Starsky's feet, precariously balanced on the thin strip of ledge, slipped.

Suddenly all one hundred sixty-five pounds of solidly packed man dropped. Hutch felt his back muscles pull with the sudden downward jerk as Starsky's also lost his hold on the cornice.

Now dangling, with Hutch only holding him by the wrist, the brunet looked down and gasped at the five-story drop below. In a panic, he started to struggle.

Hutch grunted under the straining force then to his horror felt his grip slipping as his partner twisted about.

"Starsky! Starsky! Stop struggling!"

But he wasn't listening, still caught up in his panic, grabbing, clawing and kicking in the air.

The veins on Hutch's neck and face felt ready to explode while his shoulders felt like they were being ripped from their sockets under the panicking throes.

"Starsky, calm down! You need to calm down."

Starsky's right hand managed to grab onto the cornice again, but it was a feeble, weak hold at best.

"No! Grab my arm, Starsky! Grab my arm!"

He clung to the cornice. "No…I can't…"

Hutch's fingers slipped down Starsky's wrist a little further, the blood covering his partner's arm combined with his own sweat making the skin slippery. His could feel his own fear starting to overwhelm him.

"Babe, you've got to! I don't know how much longer I can hold on!"

"M'gonna fall!" Starsky screamed in a panic.

"Please, buddy, you need to do it. Grab my hand! Grab it!"

Terrified eyes looked up into the intense pale blue ones of the blond. In them he saw the man's own terror, but also a fierce determination. The fingers closed around his wrist and palm shook under the strain but somehow they transmitted strength and unity between the two. But he was scared, terrified.

Hutch knew he couldn't hold on much longer, knew at any minute Starsky was going to slip out of his fingers and plunge to his death.

"Starsky, you've got to _trust_ me!" he desperately pleaded. "_Trust me_!"

And suddenly those two words were all Starsky needed to hear as something deep inside him came alive. His eyes locked on the blond and without further thought or hesitation he just let go of the cornice and reached up and grabbed the other man's arm.

Ignoring the searing pain in his ribs and his injured arm Starsky started pulling himself up towards this man, to something he knew was true and good and solid.

Hutch tightened his grip as he felt Starsky move and once more find his footing on the narrow lip of the ledge again.

"That's it buddy. That's it."

While Starsky was balanced on the ledge, Hutch re-enforced his hold.

"Don't let me go," Starsky pleaded in both fear and pain.

"I won't, babe. I won't, I promise!"

Hutch then locked his eyes on his best friend. "We can do this, Starsky. Together, understand? Me and thee."

Starsky nodded, his eyes never leaving his face. Digging into the last of his reserves, he clung to Hutch and nodded.

"Pull us up! Pull us up!" Hutch shouted.

The two officers grabbed Hutch by the belt and shoulders and started pulling while Hutch used every ounce of his upper body strength to hang onto to his partner.

Starsky fought the burning pain in his ribs and arm, as he clung to the blond with all he had and tried to use his legs against the side of the wall to help push himself up. Blotchy spots swam across his vision and he could feel the last reserve of his strength giving out just as his head cleared the roof. Hands were grabbing him by the back of his shirt, under the armpits, pulling him the rest of the way, scrapping his chest, torso and ribs against the sharp edge of the roof as he was finally hauled to safety.

Hutch pulled his partner into his arms, gripping him tightly about the shoulders.

He was panting heavily. "I've got you, buddy. I've got you."

Starsky's whole body was shaking against him, a combination of pain, sheer exhaustion, and fear, which only matched the trembling of his own as he sat, legs sprawled out with Starsky draped across him.

Starsky's uninjured arm weakly wrapped around his waist as the curly head collapsed into his chest. For a while all Hutch could do was just hang on to him tightly, his own fear of what had nearly happened overwhelming him.

"We've got an ambulance on the way, Detective," one of the officers said.

Hutch nodded, unable to speak at the moment, unable to do anything except draw his partner closer to him and bury his head into the matted curls.

_Oh, god. Oh, god. I almost lost you!_

At last he loosened his grip enough to allow Starsky's head to slide down into the crook of his arm so he could exam him. His partner's face was covered in sweat and grim, cuts and bruises.

The indigo blue eyes fluttered open, just mere slits of glazed color.

"Hutch?" The voice was weak, almost an incoherent whisper but the sound of his name on his partner's lips again was golden.

He held him tightly. "Yeah, buddy. It's me," he choked back.

Starsky grimaced in pain. "'S'hurts."

Hutch cupped the side of his partner's face, his fingers threading into the curls. "I know. Take it easy buddy. Help is on the way."

A trembling bloody hand reached up towards him, seeking comfort but fell weakly back. Hutch reached down and grabbed it. Starsky's eyes locked on his briefly before he let out a moan and passed out.

When the medics arrived, Hutch reluctantly released his burden but remained close as Starsky was quickly assessed, then gently placed onto a stretcher. He helped transport him down the five flights of stairs, onto a gurney and to a waiting ambulance.

A small crowd had formed and as the injured man was loaded inside. Hutch, without hesitation, pushed passed the onlookers and followed his partner.

"Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to ride up front."

Hutch shook his head. "No way. We're a packaged deal."

Without bothering to wait for an answer, he climbed in and positioned himself on the bench seat next to Starsky's head, pushing himself into the corner so he wouldn't be in the way of the reluctant paramedic that climbed in behind him, but where he could easily reach out and maintain contact with his partner.

"Everything's going to be okay, Starsk. Everything's going to be okay," he repeated.

Huggy, who had witnessed the whole terrifying event from the street below, stood outside the ambulance and told Hutch he'd take care of the Torino.

~S/H~

Some four hours later, Hutch sat in a hard plastic chair in a curtained off little cubicle in the ER Ward at Memorial waiting for the doctor to return. Starsky's wounds had already been cleaned and dressed and he'd been put through a myriad of test. All Hutch was doing now was sitting and waiting for the results.

For the hundredth time since his partner had been brought in, Hutch assessed the still figure lying in the bed next to him.

An IV line had been inserted into Starsky's right hand and was slowly dripping clear fluid into the vein, while a monitor kept track of his heart rate and pulse from leads hooked up to his chest. A small probe clipped to his finger kept track of his oxygen saturation. All standard procedures for an unconscious trauma patient, he'd been told.

A bandage was wrapped around Starsky's upper arm where the bullet had grazed his bicep. Another smaller dressing was affixed to the back of his head, covering the five stitches needed to suture up the gash just above and behind his partner's left ear. Unfortunately it had required part the curls to be shaved off, something Hutch knew was _really_ going to piss Starsky off when he finally woke up.

It addition to that, his partner had a variety of scraps, abrasions and bruises all over his body, the worst being over his rib cage which Hutch had seen for the first time when they'd cut Starsky's shirt off. The huge ugly bruise angrily flanked the better part of one side of his ribcage. It was no wonder Starsky had passed out once Hutch had gotten him safely back up on the roof. It must have been a miracle his partner had been able to hang on and even help leverage himself up between his injured arm and ribs.

Luckily in the ER staff's haste to treat his partner when they'd arrived, they hadn't sacrificed Starksy jeans, like they had done his shirt. Hutch had them safely in his possession in a plastic bag, along with the blue Adidas sneakers, belt, socks and underwear. The only thing missing this time, Hutch thought in irony, was the watch as he thought back to Bellamy and the poisoning and the last time he'd sat in the hospital waiting for his partner to wake up.

Starsky's watch and wallet were currently in the Torino after they'd been confiscated from Levi, along with the leather jacket. Starsky's badge, however, Hutch had kept with him and was now tucked in his front left pocket of his shirt, close to his heart.

Since Starsky had passed out on the roof, he had remained unconscious and after four hours, Hutch was starting to worry. Though he tried to convince himself that it was just sheer exhaustion from the ordeal his partner had endured, he knew head injuries could be tricky things and he was concerned about more serious complications.

As Hutch waited for the doctor to return he periodically adjusted the blankets about Starsky's chest, knowing how much his friend hated to be cold. Or he'd would reached over and rubbed the back of his partner's hand, the physical contact as much a comfort to himself as it was for his partner, the scare of what nearly happened still too fresh and raw in his mind.

Finally the curtain parted and the ER doctor stepped in. Hutch rose from the hard plastic chair, his strained muscles protesting, as Dr. Siegel stepped over to his patient.

The doctor lifted both of Starsky's lids and with a penlight checked his pupils then did a complete neurological exam, testing various reflexes before finally nodding with satisfaction.

Unfortunately Dr. Franklin, the chief medical doctor for the ER and the one who had treated Starsky during the poisoning, wasn't on that evening. In general, Hutch tended to be leery of most doctors, finding them to be pompous and arrogant, with little true sympathy towards their patients. He knew it was mostly a personal bias relating back to his father and his own dislike of hospitals in general, but he just couldn't help it, especially when it came to matters of his partner. But Dr. Franklin knew them both well and at least Hutch had a rapport established with him.

Dr. Siegel was new, and guessed he'd only been out of his residency a few years. After Starsky had been initially examined, Hutch had spent a significant amount of time explaining what had happened, and of Starsky's confusion in thinking he was Rudy Skyler, wanting to make sure he had all the facts and clearly understood the situation. The last thing he wanted was for Starsky to be traumatized any more.

"How is he doc?" he asked when Siegel finished his exam.

"Mr. Starsky has a moderate concussion and several bruised badly ribs, no fractures though, which is good. The wound to his arm isn't too serious and shouldn't cause any permanent damage. In addition to that, he also has numerous scraps and abrasions and what appear to be some bite marks on his arms."

"Bite marks?

Dr. Siegel nodded. "Rats most likely if he'd been wandering around in back alleys as you said. The city is full of them. A real problem for our indigent patients."

Hutch grimaced.

_Rats! _The thought made Hutch sick.

"We've cleaned all the wounds thoroughly, but as a precaution we'll keep him on antibiotics for a few days."

"What about the concussion? He hasn't regained consciousness since he was brought in."

"I'm not surprised. From what you described happened to your partner and with the size lump on his head, frankly I'm surprised he was still able to walk around."

Hutch smiled. "He's got a thick skull."

"Lucky for him."

"He's g-going to be okay though?"

"Yes, with proper rest. I think so. The tests and the neurological exams we've been doing look good. We'll know more for sure once he wakes up and we can evaluate his cognitive level. We'll need to admit him upstairs for close observation, but he _is_ stable at the moment detective."

Hutch sighed in relief.

The doctor then looked at the tired, exhausted lines around the detective's face. "There's really nothing more you can do for your partner at the moment, Detective Hutchinson. Why don't you go home and get some rest and we'll notify you when he wakes up."

"I prefer to stay."

"As you wish," he said contritely.

The doctor didn't argue back. He'd already experienced enough of the detective's stubbornness earlier when the patient was first brought in. The tall cop had insisted, or rather demanded, to remain with his partner rather than forced out into the waiting room. After some heated words had been exchanged, the doctor had finally relented when it became apparent the officer was willing to pull his superiors in and to take his fight to a higher level of authority if necessary.

The fact of the matter was Hutch _wasn't about_ to let Starsky wake up in a hospital confused and alone among strangers, _especially_ when he realized Starsky had thought he was an escaped mental patient.

The doctor scribbled some notes on a clipboard at the end of the bed. "As soon as a room is available, we'll move him upstairs."

The physician disappeared and Hutch returned to his partner's side. "See that, Starsk? You're going to be all right. You just need to get some beauty sleep."

Hutch leaned over the bed and took Starsky's hand in his own again, being careful not to jar the IV. He examined the various scratches up and down his partner's arm before his eyes settled on the small puncture marks on the inner portion of his forearm. He shuddered again at the idea of rats biting the sensitive flesh while Starsky had probably lain in some filthy dirty alley.

His sigh was long and deep and full of self anger. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm sorry it took so long to find you."

A nurse walked through the curtain. "Detective Hutchinson?"

Hutch glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"There's a Captain Dobey out in the ER waiting room asking about Mr. Starsky."

"Thanks." He hesitated, not really wanting to leave him alone but knew he needed to update Dobey. He leaned over the bed again, brushing the back of his hand on Starsky's cheek. "Be back in a few minutes, buddy. Don't go away, you hear?"

Hutch thought he saw his partner's forehead crease just a little before it relaxed and grew still.

"Don't worry, we'll watch him," the nurse assured.

Hutch nodded. "Just don't do anything to him until I come back."

The nurse rolled her eyes slightly. "He'll be fine, Detective."

"How's he doing?" Dobey asked when Hutch joined him in the waiting room.

"He's got a concussion and some bruised ribs and he's still unconscious but the doc thinks he'll be okay. We're just waiting on a room upstairs."

Dobey nodded, relieved. He then asked Hutch to give him a brief rundown on what happened. He listened without interrupting. "I'm going to need a full report on my desk as soon as you can get it to me, but for now take what time you need to make sure Starsky's okay."

"Thanks, Cap."

"By the way, we got a match on the prints off the pipe found in the alley. They belong to a Henry Wallace. Name ring any bells?"

Hutch shook his head.

Dobey showed him a police mug picture. The man clearly was not one the three that had chased Starsky into the building. This man looked to be in his early thirties with dark wavy hair and thick sideburns. Hutch didn't recognize him.

"He's got a few assault priors. A real hot head, according to his file. We put an APB out on him already."

"Run this picture by the Pits. See if Huggy or Anita recognize him as one of the two drunks that had been causing trouble at the bar earlier."

Dobey nodded.

"What about Detective Marcello?" Hutch then asked

"He's going to be all right. Came out of surgery a little while ago. We're still trying to piece everything together."

"He said the man who tried to kill me was his partner."

Dobey nodded. "Used to be, six years ago. Sergeant Tony Luciana. They worked out of Captain Eaton's old precinct, the Sixteen, until Luciana got caught taking bribes and removing evidence. Ended up doing three years on an assault and battery of a witness. Ruined his career."

"What's his connection with Starsky though?"

"We're still trying to figure that one out. It's a hell of a mess. Marcello's still in recovery and so is the suspect shot in the shoulder. The other one we booked at the moment still isn't talking. From what I got from Johansen, Marcello's partner though, he said Luciana and the murdered man they were investigating, Tommy Maas, had apparently known each other from a halfway house after both got paroled. Luciana's name came up on a routine background check of Maas. The name struck a familiar cord with Johansen but he didn't make the connection with him being Marcello's former partner until after he'd seen a picture of the two of them in Marcello's desk. Right now I.A.'s all over this one. If it turns out Marcello was somehow involved with Luciana or was trying to hide evidence on Maas' murder, it'll probably cost him his badge at the very least."

Hutch tried to digest all the information, but found it difficult between his own exhaustion and his worry over Starsky.

"Look, don't worry about any of this right now," Dobey said. "Just take care of your partner, Hutchinson. That's the only thing that's important right now."

Hutch nodded, grateful to Dobey for his understanding.

~S/H~

When Hutch returned to the ER ward, he immediately became aware of a commotion coming from behind the curtain where his partner was located.

He pushed it aside to see two orderlies pinning Starsky down, while a third was busy applying restraints.

Starsky's eyes were wide open, terrified as he thrashed wildly in the bed, arching his back and twisting his torso. Blood dripped from his hand were the needle had apparently been yanked out. The IV pole which had stood next to the bed was now tipped over and propped against the wall.

"What the hell is going on here?" Hutch demanded.

"Stay out of the way, sir!"

"The hell I will!" Hutch pushed his way in between two of the orderlies.

"We need to restrain him, sir. He's out of control!"

"Get away from him!"

He pushed one of the orderlies aside to see Starsky fully awake, his eyes dilated and his nostrils flaring in fear. Hutch immediately placed his hands on his partner's chest, bringing his face into Starsky's line of vision

"Starsk. It's me! It's me! Hutch. Take it easy, buddy. Take it easy."

He read the sheer panic in the indigo blue eyes as Starsky twisted and strained against the restraints and the hands holding him down, the veins in his neck bulging from the effort.

"Babe, calm down, _please_."

"Let go of me! Let me go!" Starsky pulled at the bindings, his breathing rapid. The heart monitor he was still hooked up to at the bedside was now moving in quick jagged peaks showing his accelerated heart rate.

"No! No! Please! Take them off…oh God, no…not again…"

When he couldn't pull free from the restraints, he started to bang his wrists against the metal bars of the bed.

Hutch looked over at the orderlies.

"Take those things off of him! NOW!"

The one closest to him, who had a hold of Starsky lower torso and was sporting a fat lip, shook his head. "We can't do that, sir. It's for his own safety."

A nurse wedged herself between them and before Hutch could stop her, she plunged a needle into Starsky's thigh.

Starsky bucked and cried out at the pain. Tears sprung out of terrified eyes and at once Hutch knew what was happening. "No! No! Stop…oh God…don't…"

He cupped both hands to Starsky's face and leaned in close. Despite his fury, he forced his voice to remain calm as he turned Starsky's head towards his, forcing his eyes to focus only on him.

"Babe, babe. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here."

He kept repeating the words, trying to maintain eye contact with his partner who continued to writhe in bed as Hutch tried to break through Starsky's fear. "Listen to me, Starsk. You've got to calm down and stop fighting so hard or you'll hurt yourself more."

"No…can't…won't let them…not again…" He was panting hard, practically hyperventilating.

"Please buddy, listen to me. I know you're scared and confused right now but everything's going to be all right. I'm _right_ here and I'm going to fix this. You understand? I'm going to fix all this, but right now what I need you to do is _trust_ me. Just trust me and calm down."

His words started to reach him and Starsky quit bucking so forcefully although his breathing remained rapid and he continued to pull at the restraints.

"Just relax, buddy. That's it, you're doing great. Just listen to me, listen to my voice." Hutch continued to coax and reassure until Starsky finally stopped struggling.

Sweat covered his face and plastered the curls to his forehead. Starsky looked up with scared, confused eyes. "Hutch?"

Hutch wiped the moisture from his brow with his fingers. "Yeah, babe. I'm _right_ here. Right here."

One bound wrist strained towards him through the rails. Hutch grabbed the seeking fingers and he immediately felt Starsky's grip tighten around him.

"I've got you buddy. Just breathe slow and easy for me now, okay?"

He did as Hutch directed until the jagged pants eased to slower, even breaths. Starsky relaxed even more, his heart slowing down to a normal rate and his eyes drooped shut.

Hutch continued the soft strokes until he found it necessary to shift his weight in order to adjust his twisted back. Immediately Starsky's eyes flew open and his hand tightened over Hutch's fingers again.

"Don't go," he pleaded.

Hutch squeezed his hand back. "I'm not going anywhere, babe."

He could see Starsky's eyes beginning to glaze over as the combination of sheer exhaustion and whatever drug they had shot in him started to take affect.

"Don't let them put the gag on, okay? Promise?" He begged in a slurred voice.

"Don't worry, Starsk. No one's going to that."

"I'll try not to scream this time." He whispered before his head lolled to the side.

Hutch flinched, feeling sick.

He stayed by his side until he was sure Starsky was asleep once again. Only then did he slowly extract his hand from Starsky's limp hold and faced the nurse and one of the orderlies who stood close by.

He kept his voice low, but his tone had clearly changed to one laced with icy fury. "Take the restraints off."

The nurse clasped her hands in front of her, her posture stiff, but clearly shaken. "I'm sorry. We can't do that. The patient is combative."

"Correction, he _was_ combative. He's not anymore."

"It's for his own safety, sir. He woke up while we were trying to draw some blood, then yanked his IV line out and tried to get out of bed. He has a head injury, Detective, and is still very confused."

"And I told you before I left not to do anything unless I was here."

"We didn't think it would illicit such a violent response."

"Well _obviously_ it did! Take the restraints off."

"I can't do that."

"Don't you understand?" Hutch tugged at one of them and Starsky frowned. "These are terrifying and confusing him more than they are helping."

"As soon as the doctor is sure he won't be a danger to himself or anyone else, we'll remove them. Until then, I'm afraid they will have to stay in place," the nurse said firmly.

"Then I suggest you go find the fucking doctor and get him in here _now_ or I swear I'll cut these off myself!"

"Very well. If you insist." The nurse looked over at the orderly. "Wait here until I return with the doctor."

The orderly nodded.

A few minutes later Dr. Siegel walked back through the curtain. "What's going on here?"

"I was trying to explain to Detective Hutchinson the necessity of the restraints. The patient woke up disoriented and combative. We didn't have a choice but to physically restrain him for his own safety. We ended up having to medicate him."

The doctor nodded, then stepped over to re-examine his patient. "I'm sure you did what you thought was necessary."

"But he's calm now and I'm here. I want them off," Hutch demanded.

"I don't think that's in the best interest of the patient at the moment."

Hutch reeled on him. "Pardon me, but you obviously don't have _one hell of a clue_ as to what is in the best interest of _my partner_. I told you when we came in under NO circumstances did I want him physically restrained like this."

"Sometimes we don't have a choice Detective, clearly you can understand this."

"In normal circumstances I might agree, but the situation with my partner is not normal. I explained this to you before if you'd bothered to _listen_, damnit! My partner is an undercover cop who just came off a heavy assignment. With the concussion and in his confused state, he still thinks he's in Cabrillo as a patient. Restraining him is only going to _re-enforce_ the confusion, not help! I have medical power of attorney over him and I want the restraints off _now_!"

"You'll be jeopardizing your partner's safety. He could injure himself more."

"I'll take full responsibility." When the doctor's face remained unyielding in his decision, Hutch let out an exacerbated sigh. "Look, doc. I'm not stupid nor am I being careless or irrational in my judgment. I just know my partner and what he's been through. He trusts me and he'll respond to me. I can keep him calm until he gets back his senses."

"You can't be with him twenty-four hours."

"That's where you're wrong. I plan to be right by his side until he wakes up if that's what it takes to keep him from being physically restrained. Now take these off."

Dr. Siegel pursed his lips. "Very well, Detective. We'll try it your way, _for now_."

Hutch nodded curtly barely able to control the simmering fury boiling within him.

The orderly reluctantly began to remove the restraints. Starsky started to stir. His wrists twitched, his brows creasing up.

Once they were off, Hutch was instantly by his side taking each wrist in both hands and gently rubbing his thumbs over the red marks. Already he could see the bruises forming on the back of Starsky's hands from where he'd hit them repeatedly up against the metal bars of the bed.

Starsky moved agitatedly about, but as soon as Hutch touched his head and began rhythmically stroking his fingers through the curls as he spoke softly in his ear, his partner began to visibly relax.

Hutch smiled. "That's it, buddy. Just sleep."

The eyes which had been erratically moving beneath the closed lids stilled and he drifted off once again.

The doctor's brow rose slightly. "I see what you mean."

TBC…..

(Don't ya just luv Hutch in Mother Hen Mode, lol. Hope I kinda explained the sub bad guy plot a little bit. This is where my writing skills suck, so I apologize if I'm not very clear – hopefully it will make more sense as I tie the story up)


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Starsky was transferred up to a room for close observation.

As the afternoon waned into the evening Starsky started to stir again, his movements once more becoming restless. Hutch repeated the same process he had done in the ER of gently reassuring his partner his was safe and each time, after a few minutes, he would drift back off to sleep.

When Starsky finally did open his eyes a few hours later he stared glassily up until something triggered in his mind and the indigo orbs darkened into distress then fear. His breathing became rapid and he tried to sit up. Hutch was immediately by his side reassuring him as he eased him back down.

"It's okay, buddy. I'm here and you're safe."

Starsky pushed against him, his eyes darting about, but Hutch simply took his hand and interlocked their fingers together then brought it up against his chest. With the other he cupped the uninjured side of the curly head.

Starsky blinked several times before his eyes seemed to focus and locked on Hutch. In them the tall blond could still see the confusion, the fear, but also thankfully their trust.

"Close your eyes, buddy and go back to sleep. You're safe. Just rest, babe. I'll be right here."

Starsky nodded and the heavy lids descended back down.

~S/H~

Huggy stopped by shortly before visiting hours were scheduled to end. He found Hutch slumped uncomfortably in the chair.

"How's he doing?" he asked as he looked over at the still figure lying in bed.

Hutch painfully un-pretzeled himself. "He's starting to come around more, but he's still pretty confused and agitated."

"He's been through quite a lot."

Hutch nodded. "Damn staff in the ER didn't help."

After filling Huggy in on the events that had happened on the roof and in the ER, Hutch raked his fingers tiredly through his hair then down his face.

Huggy saw the exhausted, worried lines plastered on his face. "You okay, Blondie?"

"I will be as soon as he wakes up with a full stack. God, Huggy. I almost lost him!"

"Hey, man. Don't dwell on it. You got him back safe and he's going to be okay and that's all that counts, right?"

Hutch nodded.

The black man watched the myriad of emotions flashing across the man's face: fear, gratitude, relief and worry. They were all written there and Huggy knew he wouldn't really be back to his old self until Starsky was awake and whining to go home.

In the meantime, what Hutch needed was some food, _definitely_ a shower and a friend.

The first part Huggy unloaded from one of two paper sacks he'd brought with him, a turkey stack sandwich on whole grain bread with alpha sprouts and goat cheese. He shoved it in Hutch's face and refused to budge until he'd consumed all of it.

The next was a little more difficult seeing the protective cop was reluctant to leave Starsky's side for longer than it took to take a necessary bathroom break. But again, Huggy had insisted, pulling a set of clean clothes and toiletries out of the second paper sack he'd brought, having stopped by Hutch's apartment on his way over.

Huggy steered him towards the bathroom, unconcerned it was technically for the patient's use only, with the adamant promise he'd "guard" Starsky from the staff while he took a quick shower. Less than ten minutes later his was back out, his hair still wet but in a fresh change of clothes.

"Thanks, Hug."

The black man nodded glad to see a little color and energy back in the blond.

"By the way, Dobey stopped by and showed me and Anita that mug shot."

Hutch, who was still busy drying his hair with a towel, asked, "Was it one of the drunks?"

"No. But Anita thought he did look kinda familiar. He may have been another customer at the bar."

Hutch racked his brains. He still couldn't figure out who this Henry Wallace was and why'd he'd wanted to attack Starsky. Perhaps it had been a random act, an attempt at robbery? But no. That didn't fit either, because Levi had stolen most of Starsky's possessions after he'd been initially attacked.

He supposed he wouldn't really know the answer until the bastard was picked up.

The PA system throughout the hospital announced the end to visiting hours. Huggy got up and said his goodbyes. The nursing staff had already been alerted to the fact the detective was staying the night.

"Take care, Blondie, and call the Bear if you need anything or when Seeping Beauty over here finally wakes up."

"I will. Thanks, Huggy."

Huggy paused at the door. "And keep in mind you don't have exclusive rights on Curly. We all care about him too. We just all understand its best not to get in the way of the Big Blond in Mother Hen mode, dig?"

Hutch laughed. "I dig."

Huggy cocked his head and ambled out the door.

After Huggy left, Hutch settled back into the hard plastic visitor's chair.

In addition to the food and the clothes, Huggy had also brought Hutch a book to read. It was actually one Hutch had started some time ago and had left on his nightstand, never having gotten around to it. He tried to read, but found his eyes constantly wandering back over to the sleeping form.

Shortly after eleven, the night nurse came in to check on her patient. She was a tall, heavy set older black lady with half moon glasses and a stern look to her features. Hutch decided it best to stay out of her way as she went about her duties.

When she was finished she stood over him, arms crossed at her chest.

"Heard about all the trouble you caused downstairs, young man," she told him. "And I'm going to tell you right now I'm not going to put up with any of that nonsense up here, you understand?"

Hutch opened his mouth to say something but found a raised palm in his face.

"Uh-uh. Don't go there with me. You behave yourself and we'll get along just fine."

She marched back out.

About an hour later Starsky stirred again, his head moving agitatedly back and forth seeming to be caught up in a nightmare. He moaned, twisting his body and clawing at the sheets.

Hutch was at his side instantly.

"Hey, buddy. It's okay. I'm right here," he crooned.

The agitated movements continued, but Hutch countered each with a firm but gentle touch to an arm, a wrist, preventing Starsky from injuring himself or trying to get out of bed.

Starsky opened his eyes, but Hutch could tell they weren't really seeing him. They were glassy and filled with pain. "Hurts."

"What hurts, babe?" Hutch asked, concerned.

"The ropes. Can you take them off?"

"They're off buddy. No one's restraining you anymore."

He looked up at him then and his eyes were suddenly filled with such sadness. "Reese is dead."

"Reese?"

Starsky nodded. "I'm sorry, Sarge. I tried. I really did, but I couldn't stop them. They'd already gotten Connelly and Sullivan…and then Reese," he whimpered. "They didn't have to do that to him."

A tear slipped down the corner of his eye and it was then Hutch realized Starsky was caught up in some hellish flashback of his past from Vietnam.

Hutch brushed the wetness away with his fingers and then brought his hand up and gently stroked it through the soft curls.

"It's okay, Starsky. I'm sure you did everything you could."

"He was begging me to help him, Sarge, but I couldn't. I was tied up and gagged. He was just a kid, just a scared kid…"

He heard the tortured guilt in his friend's voice and his heart broke.

_Just a kid…Like how much older had you been, partner?_ Hutch thought angrily.

"Then when they were done they just left us both down there in the dark and oh God, Sarge, I couldn't do anything, anything but listen to him die right there next to me…he took so long to die…"

More tears slipped down the injured man's face and Hutch swallowed hard. The vivid imagery of what his partner had gone through was difficult for him to bear until Starsky's next words left him cold.

"And then he just stopped…stopped making any sounds at all. And I knew. I knew, Sarge I was all alone…"

_Oh my god! Starsk…No wonder Cabrillo had triggered those nightmares! Why didn't you tell me, buddy? Why?_

But Hutch already knew the answer. His partner was stubborn and proud as much as he was a fighter and survivor and as long as Hutch had ever known him, he was not one to back down from his fears, no matter how terrifying.

But Starsky had painful memories of loss, separation and trauma that sometimes came back to haunt him, despite his best intentions not to dwell in the past. Scars that ran hellishly deeper than his own: his dad being killed in front of him and then being shipped off to be raised by relatives on another coast, forced to leave behind family, friends and all that he knew…Being drafted and spending eighteen months in a living hell only to come back to protestors screaming at him and society shunning him. Terrie…loving her and then forced to watch her die, knowing the bullet lodged in her brain had been put there by a madman seeking revenge…And others: Bellomy and Marcus and the sixteen year old boy Jackson he'd been forced to kill.

Each Hutch knew had ripped gashes into his friend's heart and had left deep painful scars behind.

Hutch cupped his partner's face in both hands, wiping the tracks of tears away with his thumbs, his heart bleeding for his best friend. He could only imagine how terrifying, how very isolating he must have felt, bound, gagged and defenseless.

"It's okay babe. You're not alone anymore. Shhhhh…Don't think about it…It's all just a dream, buddy, just a dream…"

He continued to softly comfort his partner, moving one hand from his check back up the curly hair until at last Starsky's body relaxed and gradually he drifted back off into a more restful sleep.

So wrapped up in his need to sooth his friend's pain away, Hutch hadn't heard the nurse return. When he became aware of her presence, he dutifully stepped aside and allowed her to re-evaluate her patient. Her features remained stern as she went about her duties.

Hutch took the opportunity to stretch out his kinked back and his sore knee, grimacing from the stiffness he felt from head to toe. When she was done, she left the room without a word.

Hutch returned to Starsky's bedside and tucked the blanket up over his shoulders. Once he had assured himself that his partner was still peacefully sleeping, did he returned to his quiet vigil in the uncomfortable chair.

A short while later the nurse returned, and to his surprise, she handed him a pillow.

"Well? Don't just sit there with your mouth hangin' open. Take it and put in behind your lower back. It will help."

Hutch accepted the pillow. "Thank you."

She tipped her head curtly and again left the room, her stern features never changing.

A few hours later, Starsky awoke again, blinking several times but this time Hutch noticed his eyes seemed a little clearer.

He smiled down at him. "Hey, buddy. How are you?"

"Hutch?" he asked weakly.

"Yeah, babe. It's me. I'm here."

"Thirsty."

Hutch poured some water into a plastic cup with a straw in it and held it to his partner's mouth. Starsky took a few sips, then coughed.

"Easy, not too fast."

Starsky took one more sip before Hutch withdrew the water.

The dark lashes blinked several times. "'M'in 'ospital?"

"Yeah, babe. You're in the hospital."

His brows knitted worriedly. "Cabrillo?"

"No. You're not at Cabrillo, Starsky. You're at Memorial."

He looked at Hutch, eyes imploring, sad, lost. "Am I sick?"

The question took Hutch by surprise and he immediately understood what Starsky was really asking.

Hutch took his hand in his, held it firmly. "No, buddy. You've got bump on your head and are a little confused at the moment, but you're _NOT_ sick. Understand?"

Starsky nodded.

Hutch watched as Starsky seemed to struggle to clear the cotton from his mind a little more. Then his eyes darkened and he quickly looked up.

"On the roof…I…Did I hurt you?"

"No Starsk. You didn't hurt me," he assured.

Hutch saw a tear slip from his eye.

"M'sorry. Thought you were…"

He brushed it away. "I know, babe. Don't worry about it. It's all over now."

Exhaustion washed over Starsky's face again and within a few minutes he was asleep.

Twice more throughout the night Hutch had to gently but physically restrain him and twice more he had to witness the immensity of his partner's guilt at not being able to save a young solider and of the fear of being left alone in the dark waiting for his executioners to come back swirled together with the imagery of Cabrillo and his role as Rudy Skyler the mental patient being restrained and gagged and left in the dark.

Hutch settled Starsky down again, and each time he did, his touch lingered passed the point where his partner's fingers became lax as he fell back to sleep, just grateful to have him back.

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks everyone for your continued support. I proof-read this a million times but I'm sure I've missed something, so I apologize now for any typos you still might find...hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Starsky moved the food around on his plate with disgust before finally pushing the tray aside.

"What the hell is keepin' that quack? I wanna go home!"

Hutch, sitting in the chair next to him grinned, glad to see Starsky finally acting, well…acting more like Starsky.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon, buddy."

"Not soon enough!" He slumped back in bed pouting, then grimaced as the movement shot pain through the lump on his head. He reached up and felt the bandage, scowling heavily at the patch of missing hair.

Hutch knew what his partner was thinking. "It'll grow back, Starsk."

"Why the hell did they have'ta cut it though?"

"They needed to sew up the big gash in your head dummy."

Starsky snorted. He closed his eyes and suddenly he became stoically silent and at once Hutch new his partner's headache was reaching an intolerable level again.

"Pain pretty bad right now?"

"It's only up to one jackhammer at the moment."

Hutch glanced at his watch. It had been three hours and forty-eight minutes since Starsky's last dose of pain medication. "Should be able to get something for you soon, buddy."

Starsky nodded, but kept his eyes closed.

Hutch got up and adjusted the shades on the window, dimming the room as much as possible, knowing the glare was probably aggravating Starsky's headache more. He had already turned the overhead light off above his partner's bed earlier.

A few minutes later, the nurse walked in. She was a petite brunette. "Time to take your vital signs again, David."

Starsky cracked his eyes open with a sigh. "I can already tell you the results. I'm alive."

She laughed.

After taking his blood pressure and pulse, a thermometer was stuck in his mouth.

"I'll be back in three minutes," she said.

Starsky waited one minute before impatiently reaching up to take the thermometer out of his mouth.

"Leave that in there!" Hutch told him.

"I'm fine," he tried to mouth around the glass instrument.

"Stop talking and keep your mouth shut."

Starsky scowled back.

The nurse returned promptly after the required time and withdrew the thermometer. "Hmmmm…100.1. You still have a bit of a fever. I'll have to let the doctor know."

Starsky's scowl deepened. During the middle of the night he'd spiked a low grade temperature the staff was keeping an eye on, something that concerned Hutch as well knowing his partner had probably spent several hours lying unconscious in dirty, filthy alleys with rats and open wounds.

"Anything under 101 shouldn't count," Starsky groused making the nurse grin again. He then grimaced.

"It's been almost four hours. Can he get something for the pain?" Hutch asked.

She nodded and returned a few minutes later with the prescribed medication.

About forty minutes later the pain pills started to kick in. They didn't take the pain away completely, but dulled it enough to keep Starsky from flinching with every sound or glare of light.

Having taken care of Starsky before with a concussion, though admittedly not this sever, Hutch knew his partner would probably have the lingering headaches for a while and it was just one of those things he'd have to grin and bare.

At least a good chunk of Starsky's memory had come back and he no longer thought he was Rudy Skyler. However, he still wasn't quite able to piece the events back together completely after he'd left the Pits. He still couldn't tell Hutch who had initially attacked him, nor was he able to remember quite how'd he'd come to wake up in the hospital. Hutch had filled him in briefly but had skimmed over the details about what happened on the roof. He figured his partner had been through enough.

The only thing Hutch did know for sure was Starsky wanted to go home. The curly haired man hated hospitals, hated everything about them.

Hutch empathized with him.

After the half eaten tray was taken away, it became necessary for Starsky to take care of some needed business. By outright stubbornness he refused the indignity of using the bed side urinal again as the nurses ordered and insisted on getting up. Hutch helped him out of bed, steadying him when as soon as he stood up he pitched sideways.

Starsky wrapped an arm around is badly bruised ribs as he slowly but somewhat urgently made his way to the bathroom. Hutch guided him, then kept one hand on him to steady him while Starsky did what he needed to do before Hutch escorted him back bed.

Starsky didn't protest the assistance.

Over the years both had taken care of each other enough on various occasions that neither felt particularly modest or prideful in accepting help from the other when it was needed. It was just another nonverbal extension of their friendship, business as usual between the two.

Back in bed it took Starsky a while to find a comfortable position that didn't press on the lump to his head, jar his bandaged arm or twist his bruised ribs.

There was a knock on the door and a second later it swung open and to both the detectives' surprised faces, Dr. Franklin walked in.

The tall lanky physician with a long horse-like face and glasses that had previous treated Starsky for the poisoning greeted them both sternly. "Well, Detective Starsky, Detective Hutchinson. I see we are back and causing trouble again?"

"Heya, doc," Hutch greeted.

"Where's Dr. Siegel?" Starsky asked. "I've been waiting for him all morning!"

"I've taken over your case from Dr. Siegel, Mr. Starsky. It appears, Detective Hutchinson, was a bit too intimidating for him."

Starsky had to grin at that. "I can only imagine! So does that mean you're here ta write my ticket out of here?"

"Not _quite_, Mr. Starsky. There's still a little matter of a concussion we need to monitor, and a bit of a fever to deal with first."

"I'm fine," the injured man insisted.

"We'll see about that," was the stern and unmoving reply.

Dr. Franklin then went about doing a complete neurological exam on him. Starsky flinched when Franklin shined a penlight in both his eyes, but stoically, or rather stubbornly Hutch was sure, remained quiet.

"How's your memory doing this morning?"

"A lot better. Still splotchy in a few places, but good enough to get out of here."

"And your vision? Still blurred or split?"

"No," Starsky lied and Hutch gave him a warning look. "Okay, well, maybe just a little."

The doctor held up two fingers a short distance away. "How many fingers do you see?"

Starsky squinted then scowled as if he couldn't tell initially before replying. "Two."

Dr. Franklin nodded. "You're coming along fine, Mr. Starsky. You should be able to go home in a couple more days."

"DAYS!"

"You are running a slight fever, Detective, with a moderate concussion. We still need to keep you under observation and on IV antibiotics until you are afebrile for twenty-four hours."

"It was _barely_ over a hundred," he whined.

"Which is still a fever."

"But…"

Dr. Franklin held up his hand and let out a tired sigh. "Mr. Starsky, let's not be difficult about this. You and I both know I'm not going to release you until I deem you fit, not matter how much you protest."

"He's right, Starsk."

Starsky glared at his partner. "Whose side are you on?"

"And you, Detective Hutchinson, are going home tonight."

"Huh?"

Again the physician put up his hand. "You're partner is stable and clearly back in his right frame of mind, so for tonight when visiting hours end, I am officially banning you from the hospital."

"Now wait a minute," Hutch began to protest but was interrupted.

"And don't even think about arguing with me or I'll notify your captain." His face was stern and clearly set. "Go home and get some rest, Detective. Frankly you look almost as bad as your partner."

Hutch clamped his mouth shut, fully aware Franklin was using the same leverage he'd used earlier to force the staff to allow him to stay with Starsky when he was out of it.

Dr. Franklin grinned at the sour expressions on both men's faces. "Cheer up, detectives. This is for both your own goods. But I'll make a deal with you, Mr. Starsky. If your temperature stays below 100 tonight, I'll consider sending you home sometime tomorrow on oral antibiotics _as long as _someone will be there to monitor you at home for a few days until you get your equilibrium back."

"I'll be there," Hutch assured.

"I don't doubt it," was the doctor's reply.

"I'll take that deal and make you stick to it doc!" Starsky said.

"I don't doubt that either. Now gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have other patients in this hospital to attend to." With that Dr. Franklin left.

Starsky slumped back in bed, clearly annoyed.

"Cheer up, buddy. It's only another day or so."

"I guess." He sighed.

"Why don't you try and take a nap, Starsk?"

"Kinda hard with this damn headache."

"I know."

Starsky looked at his partner. "You know, Franklin is right. You look like crap, Blintz. You should go home. Ya don't have'ta stay."

"I know that too. But if it's all the same to you, I-I'd rather stick around."

Starsky heard the stuttered catch in Hutch's voice.

"I'm gonna be fine, Hutch."

"I know."

Starsky didn't push the issue. Again, like always, he seemed to be able to read Hutch much too well, knowing Hutch's reasons for wanting to stay were not just for his peace of mind, but for his own.

Hutch was a natural worrier, but most especially when it came to matters of his partner, but more than that, the events of the last twenty-four hours were still pretty raw.

Eventually Starsky did drift off into a light sleep, but it remained restless, partly from the persistent headache, but partly, Hutch guessed, from haunted dreams that still continued be plague his partner.

The forlorn cry sometime later made Hutch look up from his book. It was followed by mumbled words spoken aloud. "Don't die Reese…I'm sorry…I'm sorry."

Starsky's eyes darted open. For several long seconds he just lay there before swallowing hard, his expression suddenly looking sad, very lost.

"Hey, buddy. You okay?" Hutch asked softly.

"Yeah." Though he tried to hide it as he turned his head away, Hutch didn't miss the sudden glistening in his partner's eyes.

"Starsk? What is it?" he asked gently.

The brunet shook his head.

Hutch set the book aside and moved over and sat down on the bed next to him.

Without words, Starsky rotated his wrist so that his palm was face up. Hutch understood and slipped his hand into the space.

"Want to talk about it?"

Again he shook his head.

"Might help."

Starsky closed his eyes, his fingers wrapping around Hutch's hand as if he were concentrating on the feel of the warm comforting palm encased around his own.

Hutch watched the inner struggle as Starsky attempted not show his vulnerability, to give into the pain of memories still clearly haunting him.

He didn't know if he was exactly doing the right thing, but at the moment, Hutch only wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. "Starsk. I know about Reese."

Starsky swiveled his head towards Hutch. "How?"

"You were kinda out of it for a while there buddy. You were having some flashbacks last night."

Color fused through his friend's cheeks and he tried to look away again.

"Don't." Hutch tugged gently on his partner's hand. "You don't have to do that with me. You know that."

"Do what?"

"Be embarrassed. Shut me out."

"Won't change the past."

"No, but it might ease the hurt."

Starsky swallowed again.

"I'm always here for you to lean on, buddy. There's no shame, no weakness in that. Not between us. Never between us. You know that, right?"

Starsky lifted his dark eyes to the sincere pale blue ones. "I know that, Hutch. And I know I should'a talk ta ya. It's just that some memories are pretty painful."

"I know, Starsk. And you don't have to talk about it if you really don't want to, but if you do, I'm right here, pal. Right here."

Starsky remained silent and Hutch didn't push. He just sat next to his friend and waited. Finally, haltingly Starsky shared the painful memory of his time in Vietnam when his patrol had been captured in an ambush. Two of his friends had been killed in the exchange while he and another young solider had been captured, beaten, drugged off and tortured.

"Reese had only been with our patrol for just a few weeks, fresh outta boot camp. He was kinda a klutz. All arms and legs and two left feet from some dinky little hooky town in the middle of nowhere. Some of the guys kinda made fun of him, razzed him a bit, but he was just a nice kid. A nice kid who drew the short end of the straw and wound up in hell." He sighed. "I don't know why, maybe it was because he kinda reminded me of Nicky when we were young and together, before…" Starsky cleared his throat. "Before my dad was killed, before Nicky changed. I felt kinda protective of him."

Hutch read the pain in his friend's eyes as he spoke about their capture; about the torture done to the young solider while Starsky had been forced to watch, finally being gagged when he wouldn't stop shouting at them. Then afterwards, to bare witness to the young man's suffering death.

"I just wanted him to die, to die and shut up so I didn't have to hear him cryin' no more, hear him pleading with me to help him." Anger, guilt and self loathing laced his voice.

"Starsk, you couldn't have done anything."

"I know that. Just like I knew I couldn't help my dad when he bled to death in my arms."

His voice dropped away for a few minutes.

"Starsk…"

Starsky tried to check his emotions while Hutch's heart ached for his friend's pain.

His voice became low, almost a whisper. "After Reese….died….they just left him there to rot and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I would be next. They would come in every once and a while, but I couldn't see them. By then I'd been blindfolded too. I could only hear them, feel them next to me. One of them came in and taunted me with a knife, threatened to slice my throat before sinking the damn blade into my thigh. After that I don't remember much beyond wakin' up in a mash unit several days later. My Sarge and the rest of my patrol, somehow found us, or rather me."

"Buddy, I'm so sorry. If I had known, I would have pulled us off the Cabrillo case earlier."

The indigo blue eyes shot up. "NO!"

"Starsky…"

"No! There was no way I would have let ya Hutch."

"After the hell you went through Starsky? No one, especially me, would have expected you…"

"I expected me!"

Hutch frowned. "Why, Starsky?"

"Because I couldn't do anything to help Reese, Hutch. And I couldn't do anything to help my dad, but maybe, just maybe I could do something there! To prevent some other wacko from torturing another person."

Hutch was amazed. Amazed by his friend's bravery and tenacity despite the hell, the fear he must have felt.

Starsky looked at Hutch, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sad smile, his eyes glistening. "Guess I just didn't expect it ta come back and hit me that hard after the case." He swallowed, his hand twitching in Hutch's grasp. "Guess that means I'll never be Captain Marvel, huh?"

"Aw…Starsk…." Sensing his partner was about to loose it, Hutch pulled his friend into an embrace. Starsky wrapped his arms gratefully around Hutch's waist. "You're the bravest man I've ever known, Gordo. To be able to face your fears like that, I-I don't think I could have ever done that buddy."

Starsky held onto him, as if grateful to pull from Hutch's strength once again, to feel the strong solid arms about his shoulders. Only into Hutch did Starsky ever drop his guard, and only through Hutch did he seem to find what he needed most to heal his troubled soul. Hutch held onto him for as long as Starsky needed him until he felt his partner stir against him and finally push away.

Hutch released him, but remained sitting on the bed.

Starsky sank back into the pillow, eyes slightly hooded. "Thanks, Hutch."

"Sure, buddy. Anytime. You know that, right?"

Starsky nodded. He then yawned, his eyes starting to droop with exhaustion.

"Why don't you try and go back to sleep for a while, babe. I'll be nearby."

Starsky nodded again and to Hutch's surprise his partner was out like a light within minutes as if a great weight had been finally lifted from his friend's heart.

Hutch smiled, feeling his own heart becoming lighter.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a while just watching Starsky sleep and wondered if his partner really knew just how much of Starsky's own inner strength Hutch drew upon everyday just to keep him sane at times.

Starsky had always been there for him, not just through the big stuff, like his divorce, the heroin, and Gillian, but the everyday crap, some self inflicted, others the result of the toilet bowl they worked in every day, helping pull him out of the dark places he tended to wallow in and easing the inner loneliness he had carried with him most of his life.

That Starsky had needed to pull strength from him today, to lean on him was viewed neither as a burden nor a sign of weakness in his friend, but rather as an honor and a privilege that Hutch felt for the friendship and the trust he shared with this man.

That Starsky would fight his own fears and demons to help someone else never ceased to amaze him, but did not surprise him. It was just Starsky's way.

He watched his partner's features boyishly soften as he drifted off into a deeper, more restful sleep. Smiling fondly at the wild curls framing the sleeping face, Hutch patted his partner's leg. "Your something else, Gordo, you know that?"

~S/H~

Dobey stopped by later in the afternoon. Starsky was still asleep. Not wishing to disturb the injured man's rest, the Captain spoke quietly with Hutch instead, filling him in on more details to the many unanswered questions.

"We finally got a full statement off of Detective Marcello and the two punks working with Luciana."

Dobey explained that Marcello's former partner had met Tommy Maas in a halfway house after they were paroled. Couple of months later Luciana found out Maas was working as a runner for Eddie LaRue. Maas had somehow found out about LaRue's big stakes and the cocaine and he, Luciana and the two others had planned to rip LaRue off while he was having all the trouble with his competition. Only problem was, after the job, Maas took the money and the dope. Luciana was sure he'd double crossed them with someone."

"Who?"

"Unfortunately, Luciana figured it was Starsky after he'd been tipped a cop was staying with Maas' old lady. He thought either Starsky was working undercover or had forced Maas to cut a deal with him instead."

Dobey continued his explanation.

For a while Marcello too had thought both Starsky and Hutch had been working undercover after he'd seen LaRue's case file on Hutch's desk.

The detective had already connected Maas to LaRue and Maas to the hooker. But when Marcello realized Maas and Luciana actually _knew_ each too was the point the detective's old suspicions grew. He'd gone back to the Stardust alone and interviewed a kid that said he'd seen three men hanging around Maas' place a few days before he was killed and one of the descriptions matched his former partner. He had shown the kid a picture of Luciana. The kid ID'd him cold. The final nail in the coffin came back when forensics called Marcello with a match on a latent thumb print in the murdered hooker's apartment and a matching blood type found under the victim's fingernails. It belonged to Luciana.

"Marcello knew then he didn't have a choice, he'd have to bring his old partner in," Dobey told Hutch.

"How did he know Luciana and his goons had gone after Starsky though?"

"He didn't, not at first. He knew his former partner was trying to get back with his ex and was headed over there. He thought maybe he could to talk to Luciana first alone, try and convince him to turn himself in before all the evidence against him hit the fans. When he heard the shots fired call and heard your name over the radio though, he wasn't far away and responded. When he realized you'd gone in alone, he went into help. It was only when he'd seen Luciana's face clearly in the shadows, taking aim at you that he realized Luciana's intent and he knew he didn't have a choice."

In a plea bargain, one of Luciana's partner's, Miguel, Dobey went on, confessed that Luciana had beaten the hooker to death trying to get information out of her and that Trey had killed Maas when Maas tried to get away from them.

Hutch took in the information and tried to digest it.

"It appears Starsky just ended up in the wrong damn place at the wrong time," Dobey said.

"What about the money and the dope?"

"Still haven't figured that one out. What Maas did with it, or if he did have another partner, we just don't know."

"And Wallace, what about him? Where does he fit in to all this?"

"He doesn't appear to be connected with Maas or Luciana, either. His initial attack on Starsky is still a mystery until we can pick him up."

"Great," Hutch replied thinly.

Dobey got up and prepared to leave. Before he departed though, he reached into his vest pocket. "Almost forgot."

He withdrew a crayon drawn picture for Starsky from his eight year old daughter with "Get better Uncle Dave. Love Rosie," scribbled across the bottom.

Hutch smiled as he accepted it. "Tell Rosie I'll be sure 'Uncle Starsky' gets this when he wakes up."

Dobey nodded. For all his gruff exterior, explosive temper and often fisted way he ran his department, deep down Hutch knew the man cared deeply about each of the men under his command, but he and Starsky, the Captain had always held a particular fondness for and considering them akin to family.

"Take care of your partner, Hutchinson."

"I will, Cap. Thanks."

Dobey nodded and left.

Around dinner time, Starsky woke and found to his delight, Hutch had gone down to the cafeteria and snuck him up some real food.

Hutch grinned as Starsky attacked the burrito with zest, glad to see the dark lines around his partner's face not etched so deeply. His partner only frowned slightly when he realized the burrito didn't have jalapeños or hot sauce on it, but was eternally, as Starsky put it so eloquently, that it wasn't "shit on a shingle."

Later Hutch recounted to his partner what Dobey had told him. Starsky listened with amazement. When Hutch asked him if he knew Henry Wallace or remembered anything more about his initial attack, unfortunately Starsky was still drawing a huge blank.

The last thing he could remember before everything got really confusing was digging his keys out of his pocket to his car after leaving the Pits. When he tried to push the memories to return it only made his head hurt.

"Don't stress over it, buddy. It'll come back eventually."

When the overhead page announced the end to visiting hours a few hours later Hutch dutifully, if not reluctantly started to take his leave.

"You sure you're going to be alright Starsk?" Hutch asked, reading the return of discomfort on his friend's face. The nurse had come in just a few minutes prior with another dose of pain pills for Starsky's pounding headache, but it would be a while before they took affect.

The brunet settled down in bed. "I'll be fine, Hutch. Just make sure you bust me out of here tomorrow."

"You bet, buddy."

He paused and gave a little grin before departing.

Before leaving the floor, Hutch stopped at the nurse's station and made sure they had his number just in case his partner needed him, _at any time_, he emphasized.

Huggy picked him up outside the hospital in the Torino. After dropping Huggy off, Hutch took the Torino back to Venice Place, and once in his apartment promptly collapsed into bed and didn't wake up again until the next morning when his was startled awake by the phone ringing.

It was Dobey calling to inform him they'd picked up Henry Wallace and he was being interrogated by Kauffman and Bristol and that Dobey wanted Hutch to come in.

Hutch told him he'd be there within the hour.

He hopped in the shower and let the hot water spray over his entire body which gave some much needed relief to his twisted back muscles. He got out, toweled off, and then shaved, wincing slightly as the razor rubbed across his bruised cheek where Starsky had punched him the day before. Looking in the mirror, he saw the purple-greenish discoloration now appearing. He'd been lucky Starsky hadn't landed the punch on his nose, for he was sure his partner would have probably broken it. As it was, his cheek and jaw muscles were going to be tender for a few days.

He dressed, wincing a little as he bent his still sore knee into a pair of slacks, before grabbing his holstered magnum, donning a light jacket and heading out the door.

TBC…


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

By the time Hutch returned to Memorial, it was well after ten. He found Starsky impatiently waiting for him.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been waitin' all morning!"

"Sorry, Dobey wanted me to come into the precinct first," Hutch explained.

He sat down and noticed the tired lines on his partner's face had returned and frowned his concern. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Starsky shrugged. "Some."

By the look on his face, Hutch thought not much at all.

"Any more nightmares?" Hutch asked, worried their talk yesterday might have been too soon, too stressful.

Starsky shook his head. "No," he assured, easily reading his worry. "Just this damn headache. So what did Dobey want?"

"We picked up Wallace and his accomplice, the two men who attacked you."

Starsky frowned. "Wallace." He repeated the name but it still didn't sound familiar, but then again, he still had a few cheese holes in his memory. "Do I know him?"

"Actually…um…no."

His frown deepened. "Then what was it, a mugging?"

"Well, no not that either."

"Then what the hell was it?"

"More of a case of mistaken identity."

Starsky looked at Hutch perplexed and saw his partner staring back at him a little sheepishly. "Actually Wallace thought you were me."

"Huh?"

"Do you remember Kelly Clarksdale?"

"Kelly?"

"Yeah, I dated her a couple of times a month or so ago."

Starsky thought. "Yeah, vaguely. She was a secretary or something."

"Stenographer, actually."

"Whatever. So what has this Kelly got to do with what happened ta me?"

"Well apparently she had a jealous ex-boyfriend I didn't know about that thought you were me."

"What a minute! Are you trying to tell me I got a pipe cracked upside my head by a jealous ex-boyfriend of a girl I didn't even date?"

Hutch gave him a lopsided, apologetic little grin. "That's about the size of it."

"Terrific!"

"Sorry, buddy."

"How'd ya find out who he was in the first place?"

"Off the set of prints he left on the pipe he whacked you with. That and the fact Anita recognized him as one of the customers in the bar when we were there eating dinner and shooting pool."

"Mmmmm. Just my luck, and all bad!"

Starsky sank back against the pillows. Within minutes he grew really quiet, almost physically withdrawing into himself. Hutch noticed the expression on his face change and his radar went up.

"What is it Starsk?"

Starsky picked at the covers, his eyes suddenly hooded.

"I couldn't sleep last night not just because of the headaches," Starsky admitted.

"What then buddy?"

"I started remembering more." He glanced up and Hutch briefly saw the flash of emotion in his partner's eyes before they were once again concealed beneath the fan of dark lashes.

"M'sorry, Hutch."

"Sorry for what?"

"For what happened on the roof."

"Aw, buddy, there's nothing to be sorry for."

The curly head snapped up for a moment "NO! You're wrong. I…I could have killed ya." The last part of the sentence came out strangled.

Hutch got up from the visitor's chair and sat down on the bed. His partner's shoulders were slumped, his eyes downcast once again.

He reached over and covered the hand Starsky was using to pick imaginary lint off the blanket.

"Starsk. Starsky, look at me, please."

When Starsky raised his eyes, the deep indigo blue orbs were filled with guilt. Hutch brought his other hand up and gently, but firmly cupped the back of his partner's neck. "You listen to me, David Starsky. You have nothing! Absolutely _nothing_ to be sorry for. You were hurt and confused."

"Doesn't matter. Should'a known it was you."

"Starsky, for God sakes, someone beamed you upside the skull with a metal pipe! It would have confused the hell of anyone, if not killed you outright."

The eyes flashed angrily, filled with self loathing. "I pulled a gun on you, Hutch! Don't you understand? I could have pulled the trigger, blown my best friend away!"

Hutch shook his head. "No you wouldn't have."

"You don't know that for sure," Starsky argued.

"Yes I do." The three words held solid conviction in them, but Starsky still shook his head, and Hutch could tell what had happened on the roof was still eating away at him.

"I saw the fear in ya, Hutch."

"Aw, Starsky. Of course I was afraid. I was flat out terrified. But _not_ in the way you think."

Dark eyes met pale blue ones. "What do you mean?"

Hutch sighed. His hand dropped from Starsky's neck and joined his other still covering his partner's hand. He intertwined their fingers together.

"I was afraid I was going to make you p-panic again. Don't you see?" Hutch told him. "I had backed you up in a corner on that roof before I figured out what was really going on with you. Then it all made sense when I realized you really thought you were Rudy Skyler," Hutch explained. "But by then you were already so close to the edge." The pale eyes re-lived that moment in front of his friend. "I was flat out terrified you were going to fall. Then when those other two officers arrived, startled you and you went over… I-I thought I lost you."

Hutch tightened his fingers around his partner's hand and took a breath, the image of seeing Starsky there one second and gone the next was still seared in his mind.

"W-when we realized you were still there, clinging to the side of the building, my only thought was to reach you. And once I had a hold of you, I _wasn't_ going to let go, no matter what. Then when you started to struggle…." Hutch choked back the rest of what he wanted to say.

"I almost pulled you over with me," Starsky finished for him. "All because I was afraid of you! What kinda friend is that?"

"A very confused one, Starsky, that's all."

"But I shouldn't have been. I should have trusted ya."

"But you did Starsky."

He looked up confused.

"Buddy, when I had you by your hand, I could feel you slipping from me and I knew there was no way I was going to be able to hang onto you without your help. It was the most terrifying, heart stopping moment in my entire life. You were in a panic, terrified and the only thing I could do was to ask you to trust me. And it was there again, like it had always been, that complete trust, that complete faith you have always given me. It was Me and Thee time and just like that you let go and grabbed my arm with your other hand and helped me to pull you back up."

"I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised. By the time I got you back up over the edge, you were in so much pain from your injuries you passed out. I just held you Starsky. That's all I could do."

Hutch's hands trembled and then he felt his eyes well up. He reached up and brushed the wetness away with the back of his hand as his partner watched him. "You seriously scared the crap out of me buddy."

"M'sorry, Hutch," Starsky apologized, hating to see his friend so shaken.

"It's okay. You're safe now and that's all that matters."

"Guess you're still stuck with me then."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, partner." Hutch smiled through more watery eyes.

Starsky grinned back, accepting the friendship they had always shared. He then studied his partner's face and a frown appeared. He reached up and gently touched the bruise on Hutch's cheek.

"I remembered that too, last night. I hit ya, Hutch."

Hutch smiled gently. "You pack one hell of a punch, buddy."

"M'sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'll survive. Besides, what are few bruised cheeks among best friends anyway?"

He was looking straight at Starsky but reflecting back to another time. Another time when Starsky had been on the receiving end of one of his own punches, when he'd lashed out in anger, consumed in overwhelming pain and grief the night he walked in and found Gillian dead, the night he'd learned the awful truth about her past from his best friend. He hadn't held back either and yet Starsky had never held the incident against him.

He could feel his partner's eyes searching his own unguarded expression, feel him reading him like no other ever could and knew the moment when his partner understood what Hutch was trying to say. It was already forgiven, water under the bridge, and had never really been an issue in the first place between them. In Hutch's eyes there was nothing but the bond he shared with his best friend and the corner of Starsky's mouth lifted slightly.

"You should learn to duck next time, Blintz," Starsky finally replied, accepting Hutch's words as truth.

Hutch grinned, gave a little laugh. "I'll remember that."

Starsky shifted his position in bed and by his next remark it became clear that he'd had enough "soapiness" for the moment.

"Well I hope you remembered to bring me some goddamn pants this time so I can get the hell out of here!"

Hutch chuckled then reached down to the small carrying bag he'd brought along and plopped it on the bed. "Crummiest pair of clean blue jeans I could find," he said smiling. "Along with your sneakers, socks and a shirt."

Hutch had swung by Starsky's apartment before coming to the hospital, knowing Starsky would ream him up one side and down the other if he didn't come with clothes to escape.

"Terrific!"

Starsky dug through the bag, then frowned. "Where's my watch?"

Hutch's eyes widened. "Uh…sorry, buddy. I forgot that."

"You forgot my watch?"

"It's in the Torino along with your wallet and your jacket. But I _did_ remember your pants," he dutifully reminded his scowling partner with a raised finger. "And look. I've even got your badge." He produced it from his left shirt pocket like it was a gift and handed it to his friend, grinning.

That Hutch had kept it in the pocket next to his heart didn't go unnoticed by the curly haired man. Starsky's scowl lessened.

"How'd you get my jacket back?" Vaguely he recalled it being stripped from him.

Hutch explained, trying to lightly skim over the part about practically assaulting Levi in front of Captain Eaton but his partner was too astute to miss it.

"You in much trouble with Eaton?"

Hutch shrugged. "A verbal warning. I think Dobey ironed things out."

Starsky nodded, relieved and Hutch's smile widened.

"Well just don't stand there then. Close the damn door, Blintz, and help me get dressed."

"Don't you have to wait for the doctor to come in to clear you first?"

Starsky struggled to shift his body out of the bed, his progress still slow from his injuries. "Franklin already did that this morning. I've just been waiting for your sorry butt to get here."

"Sorry. I suppose you've pestered the nurses all morning too?"

Starsky grabbed his jeans out of the bag.

"You're damn right! My temperature was fine all night. Told them it was nothing. Didn't even go over 99. I just wanna get out of here before they find somethin' _else_ ta keep me here."

Starsky was like a bull in a china shop when it came to confinement and hospitals. He hated both and would as soon tear down the place in his effort to escape.

Hutch sighed, knowing it was useless to even _try_ and restrain him. As Starsky awkwardly lifted one leg, then the next into the pants, groaning as his bruised ribs protested to bending over, Hutch placed a steady hand on his arm and said nothing, though he did find himself grinning a little a few seconds later as his partner struggled to snap the tight jeans in place.

"Guess I should have brought you a pair of sweats."

For this he got a heated glare.

"What about the headaches?" Hutch asked.

Starsky grabbed his red shirt and pulled it over his head, enjoying the warm softness of the fabric over the starchy stiffness of the hospital gown.

"Doc said I'll probably have them for a few weeks." He paused and retrieved a slip of paper off the bedside table and handed it to Hutch. "He wrote me a prescription for some pain pills and antibiotics and told me to get a lot of rest."

He grabbed his socks and shoes, and then realized getting them actually on was going to be difficult. Hutch watched him struggle for a moment, before helping him.

"He also said you're not to be by yourself for the next few days, Gordo," Hutch reminded him.

Starsky grabbed his badge and stuffed it into his back pocket.

"Yeah, well I figure you got that part covered, right?"

"When it comes to watching over my partner? You have to ask?"

Starsky's face softened. "No. I never do." He smiled then, a smile that went all the way up to his eyes. A smile that reminded Hutch of all the things he treasured most about his best friend. "Now go find me a wheelchair, Blondie, and let's bust out of here."

"And go to Bolivia?"

"You got it buddy!"

Hutch laughed, only happy to comply. He knew the next several days were going to be filled with a lot of whining and complaining and he'd be sleeping on a lumpy couch that would probably twist his back up even more, but somehow at the moment, none of that mattered.

The only thing that mattered was he'd gotten his best friend back and for Hutch that would always be enough.

**The End….**

Author's notes/reflections/thanks:

Thanks everyone for reading my story. Hope you enjoyed it and hope I didn't disappoint anyone. The story was never really meant to be about who attacked Starsky and why as much as it was more of an exploration into Starsky's character and the bond he and Hutch share. (Besides, we all know Starsky just has a propensity for getting/finding himself in trouble without really trying, lol)

The inspiration for this story came from one small scene in "Murder Ward," the scene where Starsky is strapped down in the straightjacket arguing with Hutch who wants to pull them off the case, sensing the danger to his partner becoming too great. In that scene Starsky showed such a controlled look of panic but with a fierce determination to continue on that I wondered what was going on inside his head. (Great job PMG on that scene!) It made me think of what drives Starsky sometimes to take risks clearly out of his comfort zone and how Hutch views that inner strength in his friendship with Starsky.

The two characters I find very interesting to study. What makes their friendship so unique, what makes each tick and draws the other to him? These are the stories I love to read, but are very hard to write, lol.

The biggest challenge I found in trying to write this was to try and keep the characters in canon with series without becoming overly sappy, but still express the beauty of their friendship and the trust each places in the other.

So…to wuemsel…who refused to write this story for me (damn it, 'cause I luv your style, man!), and challenged me to try and write it myself, here it is. I gave it my best shot. I still think you still could have done a much better job, but thanks for the push.

And thanks to everyone else for the WONDERFUL feedback and support for each chapter I posted through reviews and emails. It was an extremely hard and challenging story for me to write, lol, but I'm glad I did.

Bluespiritgal


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